


The Greatest Thing You'll Ever Learn

by manhattanvamp



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Moulin Rouge! Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ballroom Dancing, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Moulin Rouge! AU, Paris (City), Prostitution, Victor is v androgynous and rides a trapeze, Viktor is a Courtesan, YES YOU READ THAT RIGHT THIS WILL HAVE A HAPPY ENDING DON'T YOU WORRY, and a dancer, no knowledge of the film necessary, rated M for discussion of sex work, the Duke is an OC don't worry, yuuri is a writer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-03 05:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11525988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manhattanvamp/pseuds/manhattanvamp
Summary: Paris, 1900.It’s the height of the Belle Epoque, and Yuuri Katsuki has just moved to the City of Love to become a penniless writer and dancer. His dream is to add his voice to the Bohemian Revolution, and to write epic stories and choreograph groundbreaking dances about truth, beauty, freedom, and love. The only problem? He’s never been in love.Viktor Nikiforov is the Sparkling Diamond of the Moulin Rouge nightclub, the reigning prince of the Parisian underworld. He draws crowds of hundreds and is lusted after by some of the richest folks in Europe. But even the life of the most famous courtesan in France can grow monotonous. Viktor dreams of so much more – he wants to fly away, become a real actor, and maybe find love. But, of course, denizens of the underworld cannot afford to love.When fate throws them together, it seems like a cruel joke - but that doesn’t stop Viktor and Yuuri from hoping that their love may truly be strong enough to save them both.(TheMoulin Rouge!AU with a HAPPY ENDING that no one asked for. No prior knowledge of the film necessary!)





	1. one magic day he passed my way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello fam and welcome to my first ever fanfic. It's lit. I'm actually contributing something to the fandom now! Yaaay
> 
> And welcome to Paris! ^.^ This AU is set in the world of the 2001 Baz Luhrmann film, _Moulin Rouge!_ If you haven't seen it...first of all, it is amazing, go watch it. Secondly, no prior knowledge of the film is necessary for you to read this fic. Not that I recommend it any less :)
> 
> For those of you who HAVE seen the film: er...don't worry, there will be no major character deaths in this fic. Scout's honor. I love my boys too much to make them suffer...any more than they already will be. (I mean, there's prostitution involved, they gotta suffer a little bit.) Also: ladies and gents and variants thereupon, at this performance, the role of Christian will be played by Yuuri, and the role of Satine will be played by long-haired, glitter-drenched Viktor.
> 
> This fic was beta'd by [Mazarin221b](http://mazarin221b.tumblr.com/), another fantastic writer and super cool human being - go check out her work.
> 
> Both the fic title and chapter title come from "Nature Boy" by David Bowie, which happens to be the first song in the movie. And now, enjoy!

****Sleep evaded him tonight.

Even though Yuuri had been beckoned out of his warm bed by a thread of inspiration, several hours had passed and he was still sitting before a typewriter loaded with a blank sheet of paper.

His muse was so close he could taste it. The story was there – it was his _own_ story, after all. The story of the most magical year of his life, and how it had defined and changed him forever. How he had discovered the meaning of love, and it had been more awe-inspiring and unfathomably beautiful than he could ever have imagined – and how, when he had come so close to losing it all, he hadn’t thought twice about risking his life to take it back.

_A whirlwind of color and sound, blurred by the haze of spirits and substances, like a carnival of sin and pleasure. Laughter and music blending into one harmonious sound, the jingle of coins as they were passed from wrinkled hands dotted with gold rings to slim, manicured hands sheathed in cheap lace and satin, the clink of champagne glasses, the clatter of heels on the dance floor._

Yuuri barely noticed that his fingers had moved until several words were already on the page. He paused to pull the blanket tighter around his shoulders; his bed was warm but the cracked window in his study let in a draft that forewarned a gloomy winter.

No going back now.

_The whole world stopped for him._

_The Sparkling Diamond, the prince of this realm of debauchery and art and revolution and beauty._

_A world of brightness and warmth froze and plunged into darkness so that all eyes could find him, the one pinprick of light in a place where tomorrow was naught but a shadowy, flimsy promise._

_I met the only man I ever loved in the Moulin Rouge._

Outside, the moon shone like a fine pearl, casting light onto Yuuri’s hunched form. _Just like it did that night,_ Yuuri mused, as he found himself wandering a year back into his memories…

 

 

_***_

_Paris, 1900_

“Are…are you sure we’re in the right place?”

Phichit stopped short and turned to look at him quizzically, his grey eyes still fogged over with the remnants of an absinthe high. “Of course it is, Yuuri, it’s got a big sign on the front. You’ve never even seen pictures of it?”

Of course, this was obviously _the_ Moulin Rouge – the eponymous red windmill spun lazily above an electric sign that proclaimed the name of the nightclub. Yuuri knew that. And he _had_ seen pictures of it, even back when he lived in London.

He supposed he just thought that when his new friends and neighbors – Phichit, Guang Hong, Leo, Minami, and Georgi – had said that they were going to try to pitch their show at the Moulin Rouge, maybe they meant some… _other_ Moulin Rouge. Certainly not this place, whose name was said only in hushed tones in dark corners of bars and clubs as far as Scotland, or Moscow, or New York. Not this place, the likes of which Yuuri had never seen before: a grand old building, falling slightly into disrepair but just as lively as ever, with a strange elephant statue out front and a crowd of wealthy-looking old men in top hats and tails streaming toward the door.

Phichit smiled reassuringly. “Yuuri, don’t worry too much. It can be a little overwhelming coming here for the first time, but I promise you’ll have _so_ much fun. This place is practically the center of the Revolution, after all!”

“Yeah! I mean, aside from the bourgeoisie that fund the place,” Leo joked as he caught up with them. “They’re a necessary evil unfortunately. Even revolutionary art needs patronage.”

Yuuri chuckled. “Sorry, it’s just a little nerve-wracking. I’ve barely even been to an actual nightclub before, either in London or Japan.”

“Well, I won’t lie to you, then.” A hand clapped Yuuri on the shoulder from behind, and he jumped a little before Georgi came into his line of sight, a stoic expression on his face. “This is going to be a bit of a hurricane for you. The place is a bit of a sensory overload, but that’s the whole point. Just let yourself go, Katsuki.” At this, his mouth quirked into a rare smirk. “Live a little. And maybe throwing back a few whiskeys won’t hurt.”

Yuuri smiled weakly. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll try.”

With that, they allowed themselves to be swept up in the throng of people streaming toward the entrance.

The first thing Yuuri noticed was that the place wasn’t just populated by the rich and famous – there were a few people who looked more middle-class, and some who seemed more like starving artists. That was the thing about an underworld haunt, he supposed; there were no rules, and the dark of the night hid the shady dealings taking place in the shadowy booths along the sides of the main room. And on the dance floor, faces were obscured by makeup, masks, and fast-paced dances that turned couples into whirls of indistinct colors.

But the people he _could_ see…gods, there were so many completely _different_ human beings here, from all corners of the earth, from every walk of life. A congregation of varied skin tones and features, giants and little people, male and female and people who didn’t seem to care for labels, wearing the garb of cultures from the farthest corners of the world. To Yuuri, who had been used to being a minority in London, it was a welcome surprise.

He paused in the entryway for a moment, unsure if he would even be permitted to move forward.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” asked Minami, a fellow Japanese native who really shouldn’t have been allowed into the nightclub at the tender age of seventeen. He flashed a mischievous, snaggle-toothed grin. “The ones you see moving really fast out there on the floor, in the frilly-flowy outfits, those are the Moulin Rouge’s main exports.”

Yuuri felt an infinitesimal knot form in his abdomen. On some level, he knew exactly what sort of _activities_ would take place in such a notorious bastion, but it was another thing entirely to come face-to-face with it.

“The owner of this place is that man up there, on the balcony,” said Guang Hong, a Chinese immigrant just a few months older than Minami. “Yakov Feltsman. I’ve never met him in person but apparently he’s a pretty prickly guy. Still, he manages to rake in enough profits to keep this place going and within the good graces of the police.” He paused for a moment, looking like he was trying to decide how to properly deliver some sensitive information. In the end he simply gestured out to the fast-moving dancers on the floor and said, “He’s also their pimp.”

Yuuri swallowed hard and glanced up at the man in question. He was sitting at a secluded table on the second floor of the place, which overlooked the stage and dance floor. His tablemates were several other tailcoat-clad aristocrats, though Yuuri noted that the sharply-dressed figure to his right appeared to be a young, blonde-haired boy – far too young to be in a place like this. Both the boy and Feltsman wore the same disgruntled expression, though the older man’s was significantly more wrinkled; he wore a tailcoat as well, and the only thing that set him apart from the aristocrats appeared to be the rings of smudged kohl that lined his startling blue eyes. He simply _emanated_ power.

“He’s…rather intimidating, isn’t he?” Yuuri coughed. “He’s not the one I’ll be pitching the show to, right?”

Guang Hong laughed. “No, no, don’t worry. You’ll be pitching it to Viktor.”

Yuuri squinted back up to Feltsman’s table. “Which one is he?”

“Not up there.” The smirk on the Chinese boy’s face was a little too shit-eating for Yuuri’s taste. “You’ll…you’ll know Viktor when you see him.”

Before Yuuri could pry for more answers, Phichit reappeared to grab his wrist and manhandle him around the edge of the mass of dancing bodies, until they reached the far left corner of the room. There, next to the stage, were several alcoves set into the wall; each one contained a table with booth seating, and was lit only by a lantern that acted as a centerpiece. In one of them, Georgi and Leo were already seated; they waved to them as Phichit pushed Yuuri toward the dark enclave.

Yuuri got the sense that these tables were exclusively for the most important guests in the club, and he wondered how Phichit possibly managed to secure one for them. After all, they lived in a boarding house with flimsy ceilings and a vermin problem – but now they were going to be dining right next to a group of regal-looking men who leered at them condescendingly as they passed. Yuuri even caught a glimpse of a ring on one man’s finger that appeared to carry a British noble family crest.

He swallowed his uneasiness and forced a smile as he stepped aside to let Minami, Guang Hong, and Phichit slide into the booth before him. A young lady – dressed in a similar outfit to the ones worn by the women (and some men) out on the floor, with a long, colorful can-can skirt and a massive plume secured in her fiery red hair – sauntered over to their table immediately.

“Good evening and welcome, gentlemen,” she greeted them, her accented voice low and sultry like a purr. To Yuuri’s surprise, she deigned to make eye contact with him, and he felt gooseflesh rise on his skin as her blue eyes bore into him from beneath fluttering, black lashes. “My name is Mila. I’m here to bring you _whatever_ you may fancy this evening.”

Georgi casually muttered something in Russian, and Mila suddenly groaned and smacked her own forehead.

Everyone burst into laughter except for Yuuri and Minami. “Wait, Georgi, what did you say?” the younger boy whined.

“I just told her Yuuri’s not worth her time.” Georgi tossed the other Japanese man a wink. “Since his… _orientation_ aligns with ours.”

Yuuri blushed fiercely. He still wasn’t used to speaking about his desires so openly; he’d had a number of friends back in London who shared his preferences, and the times were indeed changing, but generally he’d had to keep that aspect of his life carefully hidden. But among the Bohemians, apparently, no one gave a damn.

“Fuck you, Popovich, you could’ve told me before I made a fool of myself,” Mila growled. The velvet timbre of her voice and the burning look in her eyes were gone now, and it made her appear much younger. The knot in Yuuri’s stomach tightened. “Though I should’ve known. Like any of you would ever _dare_ grace a heterosexual with your friendship…”

“I-I’m sorry for inconveniencing you,” Yuuri stammered, suddenly embarrassed. He had the niggling, irrational sense that he was making her job harder than it already was.

Mila simply laughed – the warmth and musicality of it eased Yuuri’s worries a bit. “Don’t worry about it, _Yuuri._ Another Japanese immigrant, then? You and Minami are crazy, to have come so far to live in this pit.”

“Actually, I came from London,” Yuuri replied, smiling shyly. Despite their awkward start, he liked Mila already. “I want to be a writer, and a dancer, or choreographer. But I felt like this was the place where I could make something really groundbreaking.”

Mila grinned approvingly. “The Revolution certainly draws all types. Well, since you’re new in town, I’m sure I can get Minako to give you boys a round on the house. Hang on a minute.”

The rest of the table let out a raucous cheer as Mila turned away, her hips swaying in a way that drew lecherous attention from several male onlookers.

“Hey, Phichit,” Yuuri prompted quietly, turning to the Siamese* man to his left. “Is she…you know…”

A spark of mischief twinkled in Phichit’s eyes. “Is she what, Yuuri?”

Yuuri sighed, exasperated. He’d only known Phichit for a few days, but he was already starting to get a deep sense of his relentless humor. “Is she a prostitute too? Like those other dancers on the floor?”

“Of course she is!” Phichit laughed. “Yuuri, here’s a tip: if you _think_ they’re a prostitute around here, they definitely are. Even if it’s not full-time. The ones who work here in the Moulin Rouge, though…” His gaze swiveled back to the floor, where several now-sweaty dancers were trading places with another group that was trailing out from a door adjacent to the stage. “If you are a prostitute, you want to work here. They call them Yakov Feltsman’s Diamond Dogs. They’re the highest-paid, most well-treated, most lusted-after courtesans in all of Europe.” His smile turned rueful then. “One could even call them the aristocrats of the underworld.”

Yuuri felt as if he had tasted something bitter. “Do they ever find their way out of here?” he couldn’t help but ask. “Why do they end up doing this? Mila seems like such a nice young woman, she could be doing so much _better –_ “

“Yuuri, before you go any further with that thought, you need to understand something.” Phichit leaned an elbow on the table and fixed Yuuri with what could nearly be called a glare. “Now I’m not about to try to insult you, but since you’ve explained your circumstances to me, I will attempt to educate you, if you’re willing to listen.”

Yuuri was taken aback, to say the least, but he nodded silently.

Phichit’s gaze softened. “Even though you left it behind, you’re used to a world with so much more wealth and opportunity than most people here will ever see. That’s not a bad thing; you’re lucky you got to grow up that way. And you’re lucky you could probably go back to that life if you ever grow tired of Paris.” He raised a commanding hand when Yuuri opened his mouth to protest. “No, let me finish. I, at least, have a family back in Siam. But they’re a large, poor farming family; I would just be another mouth to feed if I went back. But Guang Hong and Minami here, and Georgi and Leo and Mila – their families are either dead, or they’ve disowned them. The Bohemian Revolution is about so much more than art, Yuuri. It’s about bringing truth, beauty, freedom and love to the people who are most often denied it, when those things are often exclusive to the bourgeoisie and nobility.”

He paused and closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. This was obviously painful for him to say, and Yuuri’s heart ached for him.

“What I’m trying to say is, when Bohemian values are all you have,” Phichit continued, opening his eyes, “you’ll do anything to keep them. And sometimes that doesn’t leave you a lot of choice in life. Some of these courtesans have been in this industry since they were just children, in much worse brothels than this, but they stay in it because it’s the best they can do under the circumstances. They could go out and look for ‘better’ jobs, but people would just shame them for their pasts; and really, it’s not a shameful job at all! That way of thinking is nothing but snobbery; I’m sure if you talked to every courtesan at the Moulin Rouge, many of them would say that they’re perfectly fine where they are. Some might even say they enjoy their work. So please, Yuuri, don’t pity them. Don’t pity any of us; just listen and try to understand. That’s how you’ll thrive here.”

Yuuri couldn’t possibly have formed a response then, so he just nodded mutely, mouth agape. Luckily, Mila chose that exact moment to return with a round of whiskey for the table. As she passed them out, Yuuri looked at her again, remembering Phichit’s speech; she caught him staring and winked. His face flushed again, and he was grateful for the low lighting of the booth.

“So, Yuuri!” she chirped, sliding a glass in front of him. “Word has it that you’ve got a special meeting arranged for tonight, eh?”

Yuuri startled. “Um, I…what? With who?”

“That’s true!” Phichit piped up, wrapping an arm tightly around Yuuri. He’d gotten back to his usual chipper persona remarkably fast. “I’ve set up a meeting with Viktor, after his show. In private, _totally alone._ ”

“Ah, _alone,_ I see,” Mila nodded, narrowing her eyes playfully at Yuuri, who was certain his brain was short circuiting.

 _“Phichit,”_ he hissed , “you never said anything about me going in alone!”

Phichit shrugged. “You’re the writer. You’ll be the most knowledgeable about the show! Plus, with your way with words there’s no way you won’t be able to charm your way into his good graces.”

Yuuri smacked his palm to his forehead as his stomach began to roil with tension. “God, Phichit, I’ll die in there! I’ll open my mouth to speak and then I’ll burst into flames and _then_ I’ll die!”

“Never fear, _mon ami,_ ” the Siamese man soothed with a wink. “The boys and I will be hiding in a _secret location_ – “ he added some sort of ridiculous hand flourish there that made steam start to blow out of Yuuri’s ears – “and we’ll be listening in the whole time. If you choke, which you _won’t,_ we’ll be ready to jump in and save the pitch.”

Yuuri quickly threw back his whiskey before he said something he knew he’d regret.

“ _Yuuuuuri,”_ Phichit cooed, daring to put his hands on the startled Japanese man’s cheeks. “You’ll be _fine!_ I promise you, Viktor is not nearly as scary as you seem to think he is. He’s the opposite of Yakov and his lot up there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the owner’s table, which was now conspicuously empty. “They call him the ‘Sparkling Diamond’ of the Moulin Rouge. It _sounds_ intimidating, but really…I think you’ll like him once you get to know him.”

“Sparkling Diamond?” Yuuri parroted. That _did_ sound completely, horribly intimidating.

Before Phichit could reply, every single light in the room went out, save for the small lantern on the table – and the room went utterly, eerily silent. Yuuri’s heartrate immediately sped up, and for a moment he wondered if he was still even in the Moulin Rouge, or on earth, anymore.

And then a single, clear voice filled the air, cutting through the darkness like sweet poison, reaching down into Yuuri’s core until he felt like that voice sang for him and only for him. French syllables flowed through the room, sounding like water in a mountain stream, and though the singer sang acapella, it seemed as though an orchestra would only soil its beauty.

Phichit’s hands slowly left Yuuri’s face, and Yuuri felt instantly compelled to turn around. High above the dance floor, perched delicately on a trapeze that was descending slowly from the ceiling and illuminated in a single, blinding spotlight, was the singer: a man every bit as beautiful as his voice.

Long, long silver hair cascaded behind him in a ponytail as he leaned backward, stretching out one long, toned dancer’s leg for balance as he supported himself with muscular arms. As he straightened up, he left one hand high above his head, wrapped serpentine around the rope; as he sang he made eye contact with several people in the crowd, and his eyes were so – _blue._ Yuuri didn’t even know how to describe it, he wasn’t even within twenty feet of the man and he knew that he would happily let that icy azure gaze freeze him to death. The man was clad in a loose black top that stopped just below his ribs; it had a high collar, but in the front it plunged in a deep V nearly to the hem. Its seams were lined with silver glitter. His pants were loose and flowing as well, probably meant for dancing – because there was no doubt in Yuuri’s mind that this man was a dancer too, and certainly he was a great one. The trousers didn’t even reach the hem of his short shirt; the left a wide swath of his stomach exposed, and Yuuri felt like he should be thanking every deity he knew of for this particular fashion choice.

As he descended further toward the hungry-looking crowd below, the man reached his penultimate note, which he held for what seemed like an eternity. It was then that his eyes met Yuuri’s, and Yuuri immediately knew why they called him the Sparkling Diamond, why there could be no one else who could bear such a title.

This was Viktor Nikiforov, the prince of the Moulin Rouge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The country of Thailand was called Siam up until 1939. Therefore, in 1900, Phichit would have been called Siamese instead of Thai.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I will do my best to keep up a weekly update schedule. The next two weeks are going to be a little wild for me but I'm going to try to get Chapter 2 written and posted by July 22nd. The next chapter will feature a ~dance~ and maybe a little ~poetry reading~ so stay tuned! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> In the meantime, come freak out about Yuri!!! on Festival with me on Tumblr @[vika-nikiforova](http://vika-nikiforova.tumblr.com/).


	2. and we all lose our charms in the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, you wouldn’t keep a poor man waiting all night, would you?” Viktor’s tone was pouty, but this close to Viktor’s face, Yuuri could tell that the man was confused.
> 
> _Of course, he’s probably used to people jumping up immediately the minute he offers himself, but here I am gawking like a fool._  
> 
> Yuuri found himself in the rare form to push down his inner critic and force himself to grab Viktor’s hand like a lifeline. “Certainly not one as beautiful as you, Mr. Nikiforov.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, this is a day late...it's my fault because I decided to start writing a fanfic right before the busiest week of my whole summer. I always have the best ideas, don't I...
> 
> Anyway, who's ready for some fantastic double entendres, mistaken identities, and sexy dancing?  
> 
> 
> Once again, [Mazarin221b](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazarin221b/profile) has graced me with her keen beta abilities. Please check out her work!!
> 
> This chapter's title comes from the song "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend," which was covered by Nicole Kidman for the movie as "Sparkling Diamonds."

****As an orphan who had started his life wandering the streets of St. Petersburg alone, Viktor never intended to take his spotlight for granted. After all, this was as close as he would ever come to being a king.

But it certainly didn’t thrill him the way it used to, to see the ravenous gleams in the eyes of the people crowding the dance floor, the seething mass of indistinct limbs and hands clawing at him like he was nothing more than a pretty songbird. It was the same every night: he would swing above them on his trapeze, tantalizing and just out of reach, as his benefactors tried to snatch him off of his perch – he didn’t like to think about what they would do if they caught him.

He couldn’t afford to let it make him queasy. This was his job, one he’d spent years working toward, and dammit if he wasn’t the _best_ at what he did. Despite the number of customers who spat at him, called him a whore, at least he and his Moulin Rouge family knew how hard he had worked to become the premier performer in Paris, the Sparkling Diamond.

Maybe, in another life, he would have been a dancer, or a singer, or an actor. Hell, he hadn’t given up yet – as unlikely as he knew it was, the hope that he could one day fly away from the Red Windmill was what kept him strong.

So as he descended from the ceiling that night, he imagined that the lecherous gazes he made eye contact with in the crowd weren’t people looking to buy him like a dog. He instead dreamed of the day when people would come to see Viktor Nikiforov, the _real_ actor, and would stare at him in awe and applaud his talent at the end of the night.

And perhaps some of these people weren’t as bad as others – the bespectacled man in the corner he made eye contact with seemed kind of nice…

Then the drums hit, the trumpets blared, and the lights went up – this was when the show _really_ began.

 

***

 

As the orchestra struck up an accompaniment, the beautiful blue-eyed man broke eye contact with Yuuri, who promptly downed the nearest whiskey glass he could grab.

“Y-Yuuri, that was _my_ free whiskey!” Guang Hong sputtered. Yuuri heard Phichit, Leo, Minami, and Georgi burst into laughter as the spirit burned down his esophagus.

He slammed the glass down with a _thud._ “I’ll get the next round.” Frantically, he waved down Mila, who approached the table with a bottle in her hands and a wary look on her face. “Mila, what’s that you’ve got?”

Startled, the woman squinted at the label in the dim light. “Champagne.”

“We’ll take the bottle.”

“Yuuri, what are you doing? Do you even _have_ that kind of money?” Phichit interrupted as he slammed down his own empty glass.

“ _Shh,_ don’t question the man if he’s willing to buy the round!” Leo chuckled, eyeing the bottle eagerly. “God, I haven’t had champagne in ages!”

“Open it! Open it!” Minami shouted as the other men whooped in anticipation.

With a roll of her eyes, Mila obliged – but just before she could pop off the cork, a man covered head to toe in jewels and feathers drunkenly slammed into her side, and her aim was thrown off. The men watched in horror as the cork knocked a glass over on the table behind them, and the drink it contained spilled into the lap of one of the fine-suited men sitting there.

Mila turned white as a sheet. “Sir – my god, sir, I’m so, so sorry!”

“Clumsy whore!” shouted one of the other men at the table – his slicked-back hair, bulbous eyes, and high cheekbones reminded Yuuri of a snake. He began to stand up and lurch toward Mila. “You’ll pay for that, you _insolent_ little – “

“That’s quite enough, Pierre,” said the victim of the spill. He turned to look apologetically at Mila, and from his profile Yuuri could see a curly, mousy brown mustache sitting beneath a long, pointed nose. His accent was clearly that of a high-class Londoner. “Please excuse him, miss. He’s had quite a bit to drink.”

Mila shook her head so vigorously it could have fallen off. “Th-that’s quite all right, sir. Thank you kindly, sir.”

“Oh my god, the Duke!” Phichit yelped, and Yuuri was startled when his friend suddenly jumped squarely into his lap and leaned over the back of the booth. “I’d heard he was in the district! My lord, I’m sorry, we’re the ones who ordered it, Mila was just bumped by another performer while she was trying to open it for _us._ Here, let me help you, my good man!” He clung to Yuuri’s neck as he pulled out his own handkerchief and began waving it at the Duke. “Take it, please, it would be my honor to serve you, sir!”

“Phi- _chit!”_ Yuuri cried, his voice muffled into his friend’s abdomen. “Are you still feeling that absinthe? I can’t breathe, get off!”

Phichit leaned back and blinked, then threw his head back and laughed. “To be honest, I may be feeling it a little. But _you_ – “ he waved his handkerchief at Yuuri – “ _you_ are not _nearly_ inebriated enough. For God’s sake, how much absinthe did we have before we came, and you’re _still_ sober? Mila!” He swung an arm wildly toward the woman, who jumped out of his way. “Pour out another for my best friend here! He needs a little liquid courage for his _meeting_ tonight anyway!”

Yuuri watched the Siamese man’s antics with wide eyes, until Georgi’s sympathetic laugh from across the table caught his attention.

“In case you were wondering, Yuuri,” the Russian man said, “Phichit is probably only very slightly under the influence right now. He’s actually naturally this hyper.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Then if you would please remove yourself from my lap, Phichit, you’re cutting off my circulation – “ he gave his friend what he thought was a small push, but at that moment Phichit had been reaching over to offer his handkerchief to the Duke again – and the push ended up being just enough for him to topple nearly into the nobleman’s lap.

The Duke slid further into their booth as Phichit landed on the floor next to him. He groaned, then reached to place his hand on the seat of the noblemen’s booth to push himself to his feet; however, he ended up brushing the Duke’s knee by accident.

A loud _click_ resounded through the air, and Phichit and everyone else at Yuuri’s table looked sharply toward the source. A man behind the booth, who had previously gone unnoticed as he had been lurking silently in the shadows, had stepped forward and cocked a gun directly at Phichit.

As the music and singing continued on the dance floor, the two tables in the corner fell silent for what seemed like an age.

Finally, Phichit slowly rose to his feet, holding his hands up. “P-please, sir, I don’t want any trouble, I’ll leave if you want…”

“That won’t be necessary,” said the Duke as he cleared his throat and stood. “I apologize, my manservant can be a bit…overzealous.” He turned to grin at everyone at the neighboring table in turn, and Yuuri was startled by the juxtaposition between his jovial expression and the coldness of his pale grey eyes. “But, no harm, no foul, eh? My friends and I must be off; places to go, people to see, you know. We’ll be making the rounds about the club, so perhaps we shall see you later.” He donned his top hat and tipped it at Phichit’s cowering form. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr…”

“Ch-Chulanont, sir. Phichit Chulanont.”

The Duke’s grin widened into something that struck Yuuri as reptilian in nature. “Well, Mr. Chulanont, please enjoy your evening. If you’ll excuse us.”

The nobleman and his entourage filed quickly away, leaving the group of artists in stunned silence.

Yuuri was the first one to move – he reached forward to snatch the bottle of champagne from the table and began gulping it down as fast as he could. He wasn’t sure how much of it he’d imbibed by the time Mila gently guided it away from his mouth.

“I’ll go grab some clean glasses for the table,” she said tonelessly, “but you may want to slow down there.”

Yuuri could only nod dazedly. Mila kept her eyes downcast as she hurried away.

Georgi leapt up and ran to Phichit’s side. “P, are you all right?”

Phichit shuddered. “I – I didn’t know he had a gun…I shouldn’t have…I was just trying to help Mila…”

“And I’m sure she appreciates it.” Georgi patted him on the back. “You did the right thing. Do you want me to go outside with you for a moment? You look like you could use some air.”

Phichit nodded, looking numb. Georgi signaled to the group that they wouldn’t be long, then led him away.

Yuuri shook his head to clear it; his shock was beginning to wear off as the burn of alcohol in his stomach grounded him. He turned to Leo, who had just downed his own whiskey. “Are we going to be all right? That man won’t come looking for us later, will he?”

Leo shrugged. “Probably not. As sinister as he seemed, he looked too holier-than-thou to try to get back at a man who barely even touched him. We should just avoid him if we see him.”

Yuuri nodded, though he wasn’t entirely convinced.

Too late, he became aware of a growing commotion nearby, and it wasn’t until he heard the accented voice next to him that he noticed that a spotlight was illuminating their table.

“I believe you were expecting me?”

He looked up, and the ocean-blue eyes above him were like a cold bucket of water being poured over his head, clearing away the last of his daze.

Viktor Nikiforov was holding a hand out to him, and as soon as Yuuri could look away from his eyes to take in the rest of him, he realized that the man had changed his outfit at some point during the performance. He wore a tightly-fitting top, half of which was solid black, and half of which was black see-through lace studded with glittering silver gems. The sleeves of the costume extended over his hands  to attach around his middle fingers. His pants were equally form-fitting, and what appeared to be half of a short black skirt hugged one of his hips. His hair was still in its high ponytail, but a few strands had escaped during his dance.

His chest  was heaving from the exertion of his dance, but he still smiled dazzlingly and extended his hand further.

Yuuri swallowed hard. “Er…yes? Yes, I was.”

Despite the glare of the spotlight behind him, Yuuri could see the mob of envious patrons on the dance floor – some of whom glared at him, and some of whom seemed to just be ogling the rear view of Viktor.

Viktor could have had anyone in the room panting at his feet in moments, but he had chosen Yuuri. Sure, he may have just done it because they were supposed to meet later that night…but Yuuri’s inhibitions were lowering quickly as the alcohol kicked in, and he decided to give in to his ego just this once.

“Well, you wouldn’t keep a poor man waiting all night, would you?” Viktor’s tone was pouty, but this close to Viktor’s face, Yuuri could tell that the man was confused.

_Of course, he’s probably used to people jumping up immediately the minute he offers himself, but here I am gawking like a fool._

Yuuri found himself in the rare form to push down his inner critic and force himself to grab Viktor’s hand like a lifeline. “Certainly not one as beautiful as you, Mr. Nikiforov.”

To Yuuri’s bafflement, Viktor actually looked _surprised_ as Yuuri got to his feet, putting him a few inches shy of eye level. But the man shook it off quickly, wiping all traces of confusion from his eyes and putting on a spotlight smile as he turned back to the crowd.

“I’m truly sorry, friends, but I’m afraid it’s gentleman’s choice!” he called, shrugging and pouting playfully. The audience erupted in whines of displeasure, but when Viktor turned back to Yuuri, his gaze was charged and focused on him alone.

“Ah, yes! Viktor, this is our British friend –“ Leo piped up, but Viktor waved him off.

“I’ll take care of him, Leo,” he said with a wink at Yuuri, as he grabbed Yuuri’s hand. “Shall we?”

Yuuri allowed himself to be led out of the shadows and into the bright lights, the crush of fast-paced steps and sweating bodies in the middle of the floor. He kept his eyes locked on the man leading him; Viktor was radiant, a beacon in the chaos. Regal in every sense of the word, despite his habitat.

In the center of the floor, Viktor finally turned around to face him and pulled him close, nearly flush against his chest.

Time seemed to stop as Yuuri met Viktor’s gaze, and he felt his cheeks flush. He’d been in ballrooms before, of course, back when he lived among middle-class Londoners – but never had he had a partner pull him so scandalously close before, especially a partner whose clothing left very little to the imagination.

Viktor never said a word, but his eyes spoke volumes – Yuuri saw intrigue, amusement, and maybe…lust? No, not that; there was no way one of the top performers in the Moulin Rouge would have any interest in him. He had nothing to offer. Viktor was obviously just trying to be polite and social before their meeting later; the fact that he was getting overly friendly was surely just a result of the environment they were in. This was obviously how every Bohemian of the Montmartre District greeted one another.

Indeed, Yuuri noticed many of the other Moulin Rouge performers dancing on the floor doing many of the same steps Viktor did – including one where he dropped to his knees in front of Yuuri, ran his hands down his body, and then slowly rose back up to his full height. If not for the alcohol he’d drunk before, Yuuri was sure he would have completely lost the ability to speak.

“It’s so nice of you to take an interest in the Moulin Rouge.” Viktor leaned in to murmur against the shell of Yuuri’s ear, so that only the two of them would be able to hear him amongst the clamor of the crowd around them. He used his right hand to grip Yuuri’s waist and pull him closer; with his left he took Yuuri’s hand, and Yuuri reflexively put his own left hand on Viktor’s shoulder. As a man, Yuuri had never been the “follow” in the few traditional balls he’d attended since his arrival in Europe five years ago; he found the prospect of being led rather exciting, in more ways than one.

A shiver ran down his spine. Viktor seemed to notice, and he chuckled before pulling Yuuri into a box-step turn. Now Yuuri truly understood why his female friends who danced with strong leads described feeling as though they had been “swept off their feet.”

But Yuuri knew he couldn’t allow himself to get _truly_ swept away; he had a job to do, after all. There was a reason he was here in Paris, and it wasn’t to let beautiful men whisk him around a nightclub floor until dawn. He cleared his throat. “Yes, uh, the Moulin Rouge seems like a…a very exciting place. I’d love to be involved.”

Something in Viktor’s smile changed – it wasn’t the same dazzling, distant, perpetually-seductive smile he’d been flashing at the crowds earlier. His eyes widened, and his mouth seemed to round out into what Yuuri might dare to call a heart-shape. “Really? You’re interested?”

Yuuri sucked in a breath, hoping Viktor wouldn’t notice how dumbstruck he was at the sight of him…opening up. Yuuri suddenly felt like he wanted to spend the rest of tonight, tomorrow, and possibly forever seeing him smile like that – there was something so perfectly imperfect about it, so endearing, that it was almost addicting.

“Yes, of course!” Viktor’s smile was contagious, and Yuuri just hoped his own grin wasn’t too goofy-looking. “I’m very interested. As long as you like what I do, I’m on board.”

Just like that, something shuttered in Viktor’s eyes, and Yuuri ached to see a shadow pass across the man’s face – until he spun them around again, and that sultry smirk was back.

“I’m sure I will.” Viktor’s eyes were burning holes into Yuuri’s, and he felt powerless, imprisoned in their heat.

He felt sweat begin to break out on his forehead. “Uh, Phichit said we might be able to…d-do it in private?”

Viktor’s eyes widened a little bit; surprise colored his expression. “He said that, did he?”

“Yes?” Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “Like, a private poetry reading, or something like that.”

Viktor led Yuuri into an underarm spin as the tempo picked up, but as soon as Yuuri finished his sentence he pulled the Japanese man flush against him again.

 _“Oh.”_ His mouth quirked up into a smirk, and if Yuuri didn’t know any better, he would have sworn that Viktor was mentally undressing him. “A _poetry reading…_ is that what they’re calling it these days?”

 _Wow,_ Yuuri thought, _he really wants to hear my poetry that badly? What on earth did Phichit tell him about me?_

Viktor was still looking down at him with that heavy, sinful gaze, and Yuuri tried hard to make himself form words – but, all too soon, the orchestra struck their penultimate chord. Viktor leaned in to whisper in Yuuri’s ear again.

“I’ll see you later tonight,” he said in a low tone, and before Yuuri knew what was happening, Viktor had jumped away from him and onto the waiting trapeze that had lowered again from the ceiling.

The man was quickly lifted above the heads of the crowd, and though the trapeze slowed once to allow Viktor to wave and shout his goodbyes – “It’s been _lovely,_ my friends, please enjoy all that the Moulin Rouge has to offer you tonight!” – it kept moving until it disappeared into some invisible trapdoor in the ceiling.

Yuuri could only stare at the spot where Viktor had disappeared, gaping like a fish, until something slammed into his side.

“Holy hell, Yuuri! That was _amazing!_ You two looked so good together out there – you must _really_ have a way with words!” Phichit pulled back from the tight embrace he had locked Yuuri in to raise an eyebrow suggestively. “You’ll need to keep that up later. We’d better hurry – your meeting’s in half an hour! Let’s get you over to the elephant!”

Once again, Yuuri found himself being pulled along by Phichit, with Minami and Guang Hong skipping along at his left, Georgi and Leo snickering at his right.

“Wait, what’s the elephant?” Yuuri cried, trying not to stumble. “Phichit, what do you mean by ‘the elephant?’ _Phichit!”_

 

***

 

Lilia pressed a cold, wet washcloth to Viktor’s forehead. “Vitya, you’re overexerting yourself. How many times do I have to tell you? You should cut back on your weekly performances, you’re making yourself ill.”

Viktor opened his eyes and fixed her with as much of a glare as he dared. “I’m not ill. I’m not tired. I love what I do, and I’ll continue to do it well six nights a week.”

“Bah!” Lilia spat, waving a dismissive hand as she turned to stomp out of the dressing room. “The boy is turning into Yakov! He’ll end up washed up like him if he doesn’t preserve his health now!”

Viktor sighed, sinking deeper into his chair and turning to look in the mirror. At 27, keeping up with his demanding performance schedule was starting to wear on him a bit more; the bags under his eyes were more prominent every day, and where he was once all toned, rippling muscle from head to toe, his ribs now peeked out from beneath his pectorals. He’d taken off his shirt as soon as he’d half-stumbled back into his dressing room, panting from yet another night of demanding acrobatics after having barely gotten any sleep in the past twenty-four hours. Lilia, who acted as a sort of headmistress to all the Moulin Rouge dancers and as a mother figure to Viktor, had seen his body deteriorate over the years, and her scolding was growing more severe. Viktor knew that the only reason she wasn’t full-on screaming at him was because she knew he only had a short window of time to freshen himself up, redo his makeup, and change his clothes before his meeting with the Duke.

_The Duke…_

Viktor closed his eyes and sighed, remembering the enigmatic man he’d danced with tonight. Nothing tended to surprise him anymore, but this young man – much younger than he expected a duke to be, really – was just so _intriguing._ He looked around the dingy nightclub that Viktor worked in every day like it was the Louvre, taking in every costumed dancer and polished patron with wide, sparkling brown eyes. He looked at Viktor like he was something magnificent, but in a way that was different from the other men and women he went to bed with every night – he could see _admiration_ in the young man’s eyes. The type of admiration one might hold for a famous actor or dancer.

And the way he attempted to flirt was so endearing – _poetry reading,_ god, Viktor couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of the man’s stuttering request. If this man was the Duke of Kendal, then he seemed rather _innocent_ to be investing in a place like the Moulin Rouge.

But Yakov had confirmed that the dark-haired, bespectacled man was, in fact, the Duke. During Viktor’s performance, Yakov had stepped out to make an appearance (“Only because the Duke is in attendance tonight, Vitya. Don’t get used to me being out there to pick up your slack. You’re on your own again after tonight – and stop giggling like a schoolgirl!”) and Viktor had realized he hadn’t a clue what the Duke of Kendal actually looked like.

“The Duke _is_ here, isn’t he, Yakov?” Viktor had asked, maintaining a smile as he and Yakov stood on a platform in the middle of the floor. Dancers surrounded them, waving big, feathered fans and holding the crowd at bay.

“Of course he is. Tonight is your night to truly shine, Vitya! You can be useful for once and bring lasting prosperity to the Moulin – “ Yakov cut off with a choked cry as he looked in the direction of the booth tables in the corner.

Viktor and Yakov moved in a circle around the platform, continuing to wave at the crowd. Viktor squinted into the corner where his boss had been looking before, and noticed a small scuffle among the men at two booth tables. All of them wore top hats and tails, so it was safe to assume that they could all be noblemen. “Which one is he?”

He and Yakov turned in a circle again, and Yakov grumbled as he passed Viktor a prop – a long blue ribbon attached to a rod, which Viktor began waving around his head, his practiced, seductive smile still plastered to his face.

“He’s the one Phichit is shaking a handkerchief at,” Viktor heard Yakov mutter over his shoulder. When the men completed another circle, Viktor noticed that Phichit was kneeling _in the lap_ of one of the finely-dressed men – a very young man, with unruly black hair and glasses, who looked shocked and exasperated at whatever was happening.

“Are you sure?” Viktor frowned as he turned around again, pausing to lean down and take a rose that was offered to him by one of the dancers.

Yakov turned back to look toward the table. “Yes, he’s the one.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question it further.

Now, Lilia was bustling back into his dressing room, carrying a flowing black shirt with a grey vest and slacks, all on hangers. “We’ll discuss your _health_ tomorrow,” she hissed, throwing the garments over the back of a chair and rushing over to yank a brush through Viktor’s hair. “I want you to see the doctor as soon as the Duke leaves in the morning.”

Viktor sighed, conceding. “Fine. I’ll find him tomorrow.”

In the mirror, Viktor could see Lilia’s gaze soften then. “You did well tonight, Vitya. The Duke seemed rather taken with you – with him as your patron, I could see you gracing some of the biggest stages in Europe within the year.”

Viktor looked up in surprise; Lilia’s expression was completely serious, and besides, the woman never made jokes. Viktor knew she used to be a famous ballerina back in Russia, before her family lost everything and she moved to Paris, so she obviously knew what real talent looked like. “You really think so, Lilia?”

The woman actually smiled then; a rare occurrence. “Of course, Vitya. No one deserves this opportunity more than you.”

Viktor burst into a heart-shaped grin. “Oh, Lilia!” He jumped out of his seat as she set down the brush and passed him his new outfit. “If you say it, it has to be true. I’m going to fly away from here, and my portrait will be hung in every theatre in Paris!” His exhaustion seemed to melt away as he clutched the fresh shirt to his chest and jumped in excitement.

Lilia rolled her eyes, facing away from Viktor as he dressed hurriedly. “Your body may be aging, Vitya, but your spirit is that of a young boy.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, тетка.” Viktor flashed a brilliant smile before leaning into the mirror to touch up his makeup.

His blood thrummed hot and fast beneath his skin as his anticipation built. There was no way that his night with the Duke wouldn’t be life-changing - he’d already gotten the hard part over with by seducing him through dance. His course was set.

Everything was going _so_ well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> тетка (tetka) = aunt, according to Google Translate. If you speak Russian and you know this is wrong or awkward wording, don't hesitate to let me know.
> 
> This chapter was weirdly difficult to write? Possibly because in the movie, the case of mistaken identity is introduced through a physical comedy sequence and elaborate visuals. Baz Luhrmann has a gift for those two things, but he is a filmmaker, and I am a writer. Writing out physical comedy in a way that seems plausible is v tough.
> 
> Also, I mean...Chester Bennington, man. That news messed me up for a few days. I don't think I'll ever be over it. I tried listening to a Linkin Park playlist while I wrote this chapter and just ended up bawling. Grief doesn't make writing any easier T-T I never met the guy but he was such a huge influence on my life for so long, you know? Damn.
> 
> But!! Now we have the Duke (who, I will remind you, is an OC - he's not the Duke of Monroth from the movie, though he may bear some similarities). We have the Eros costume - or, at least, a modified 1900 version (God, I wish I could draw! It looks so beautiful in my head!). We have some Lilia/Viktor bonding. We're chugging along. It's lit.
> 
> Work is crazy this week, so I might not be able to get the next chapter out for another two weeks, but if anything changes, I'll post updates on [my Tumblr](http://lit--yoi.tumblr.com/) and [my brand-new Twitter.](https://twitter.com/aintgonnashutup)
> 
> Comments, kudos, and shares are greatly appreciated! As a first-time fic writer I am now realizing the power they have to motivate an author. I love feedback! Let me know what you think! <3


	3. yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor let out an infinitesimal gasp, one that Yuuri wouldn’t have heard if he wasn’t standing so close. There was no hiding now; he tilted his face up to gauge Viktor’s reaction, and what he saw surprised him to say the least. The man who had been the picture of smoldering eroticism moments before had his pupils blown wide, his lips parted ever so slightly, a rosy flush dusted across his high cheekbones.
> 
> He looked younger, more innocent - like a child seeing a falling star for the first time. Yuuri didn’t know how he appeared in Viktor’s eyes, but he certainly felt just as young, just as frightened and amazed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, [Mazarin221b](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazarin221b/profile) has been a fantastic beta. She's got 2 great YOI fics in progress right now that you should run, not walk, to check out. Do ittt
> 
> Here, have a long-ass chapter to make up for the wait - sorry, fam, work has been crazy, and also this chapter turned into a monster on me out of nowhere. The last two chapters have been between 3k and 4k words, this one is almost 8k! *Viktor voice* WOW!
> 
> Chapter title is from "Your Song," originally by Elton John and sung by Ewan McGregor for the movie. So, some of y'all know what's coming, but if you don't, here's a reference image:  
> 

****Yuuri remembered passing a massive elephant statue as he had entered the Moulin Rouge that night. He remembered thinking it a little gaudy – after all, it was closer to the size of two or three elephants, and it was so ornately decorated…

Now, of course, he knew that the reason it was so absurdly large was because there was what appeared to be a fully-furnished studio inside of it. The room was lavishly decorated, with red damask wallpaper, a plush carpet, finely-framed modern paintings dotting the walls, a fully-stocked bar cart, a balcony, and…a bed.

This bed had to be king-sized, at least. The mattress was circular, and it was covered in red satin sheets; its dark wood headboard stopped just below a wide window that looked out over the Parisian rooftops. A set of lacy curtains hung from a wooden hoop strung from the ceiling, and they fell delicately around the sides, waiting to be pulled shut, to conceal any activities that might take place upon the crimson duvet…

For all the forty-five minutes that Yuuri was alone in that room, he rarely had his eyes on anything other than that bed. His thoughts swung between his own incredulity (he’d only been in Paris for a week, he’d known Phichit for six days, and here he was in the _bedroom_ of the most well-known Bohemian performer in Paris, about to pitch their show) and some rather elaborate fantasies about the things Viktor might have done on that very bed. When those thoughts entered his mind, he blushed furiously and paced back and forth, trying to remember how he’d rehearsed his pitch over the past several days.

The minutes ticked agonizingly by, and Yuuri was simultaneously grateful for the mental preparation time and distraught over the fact that no amount of time could possibly prepare him for what he was about to do. He’d warned Phichit that this would happen – that he’d get so anxious he’d probably choke on his own words before he could spit them out to Viktor – but Phichit had shaken his head.

“You’re a wordsmith, Yuuri,” he had said. “Just read him some of that fantastic poetry of yours. And whatever you do, don’t underestimate the power of your looks. There’s no way Viktor Nikiforov will be able to resist a man with your _ass_ ets.”

“Careful, Peach,” Georgi had chimed in as Yuuri sputtered furiously. “If Seung Gil hears you talking like that, he could get _very_ jealous.”

Yuuri blinked. “Who’s Seung Gil?”

“N-nobody!” For once, Phichit was the one blushing. “Just a friend at the Moulin Rouge. A _friend.”_

Georgi whistled. “He may be a friend, but Peach definitely wants him to be a little bit more than that.”

“Oh?” Yuuri smirked at Phichit. “Why don’t you pitch the show to him then, if you’re already established acquaintances? Then you can make sure the two of you work _closely_ during rehearsals.”

Phichit’s face twisted into the closest thing to a death glare that Yuuri had ever seen from him. “Seung Gil is a _friend,_ ” he emphasized. “And you’re pitching this show to Viktor. End of discussion.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at the memory now, as he stood on the small balcony that seemed to open out of the elephant’s forehead. A cool early-autumn night breeze lifted his hair off his forehead, and he took a deep breath. An unexpected calmness settled over him. He was really here, in Paris, and despite the newness of his living situation, everything just felt _right._ He didn’t know how he knew, but he was sure he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.”

At the sound of the low, silken voice behind him, any sense of serenity Yuuri felt before left his body and was blown out over the rooftops.

 _I don’t belong here. What am I doing?_ he screamed internally as he spun around. _Phichit should be doing this, or Georgi. I need to get out of –_

He quickly caught himself before his jaw dropped.

Viktor was _right_ behind him, nearly pressed up against his spine, and his pale blue eyes were so much more intense than Yuuri was prepared for. He’d changed his outfit, too – the neckline of his black silk shirt actually plunged below the grey vest that cinched at his waist. Where it ended was up to Yuuri’s overactive imagination. Grey slacks, shiny leather shoes, and a set of sapphire droplet earrings completed the outfit, and his long silver locks had been tied back into a half-up, half-down ponytail. Yuuri felt like a sweaty mess by comparison.

And when Viktor smirked, all of Yuuri’s brain cells that hadn’t gone dark honed in on the Moulin Rouge performer’s plush, pink lips like they were the center of the universe. Yuuri’s knees were dangerously close to giving out.

Viktor reached out with a long, featherlight finger and trailed it down Yuuri’s jaw. “Are you quite all right, sir? You’ve gone a little pale.” His tone was light, just on the right side of mocking, and not as…well, _naughty_ as Yuuri had been expecting him to sound. When his lips curved into a friendly smile, calling to mind the heart shape his lips had taken back on the dance floor, Yuuri was able to inhale enough air to reply.

“I’m…fine. Just a little chilly, I suppose.” He wrapped his arms around himself, smiling apologetically.

Viktor’s brows furrowed with concern. “Well, that won’t do. Why don’t you come inside? We’ll both be much warmer.”

In truth, Yuuri felt like he was burning up, and was certain that Viktor could see the evidence on his cheeks. But he nodded. He had a job to do, and he was going to get it done, regardless of how difficult it was for him to speak when he felt like Viktor’s azure stare could pierce directly into his deepest thoughts.

Viktor’s hand slid from Yuuri’s chin, down his neck, to slide around his shoulder. He pressed close to Yuuri’s side and began moving back into the room, which was good, because Yuuri was certain he wouldn’t be able to move his feet on his own.

Once they were inside, Viktor let him go and began walking over to the bar cart in the corner. “A drink might warm you up a little, don’t you think?” Viktor tossed a mischievous glance over his shoulder as he picked up and examined a dark blue bottle. “What’s your poison?”

Normally, Yuuri would have refused – he tended to go a little wild when he had too much. But lord, did he need it tonight. “Um, whatever you’re having is fine.”

Viktor’s eyes sparkled with approval, and Yuuri was pleased to see a tinge of that heart-shape return to his smile. “Excellent!” he exclaimed, lifting up a green, corked bottle. “How about some champagne? To celebrate your arrival in Paris.”

Yuuri blinked in surprise. “How did you know I’d only just gotten here?”

“I do my research.” Viktor winked, pulling out two gold-rimmed flutes and nearly filling them to the brim. He sauntered back over to Yuuri and offered him one. “So, how are you liking it so far?”

Yuuri accepted the glass. “Well, I haven’t had the chance to go sightseeing or anything yet, but I’ve never really been one to seek out the major tourist destinations anyway.”

Viktor shrugged. “If you change your mind, let me know. I promise there’s no better tour guide than me!”

Yuuri fought down the urge to immediately take him up on that. “Th-thank you…I, um…I do really love the Montmartre District so far, though.”

He quickly took a swig of his drink, relishing the feeling of the amber bubbles burning a trail down his throat. When he brought his glass back down, Viktor was looking at him with a curious sparkle in his eyes.

“Is that so?” he asked, cocking his head. “What do you love about it the most?”

Yuuri pondered for a moment. “Um…I don’t really know how to describe it. I guess I just love everything about it at once. There’s this energy here that you can’t really find in London right now. Like…everyone is just so open-minded, and dedicated to uprooting the status quo in order to see what we can do outside of it.”

“How eloquent of you.” Viktor raised an eyebrow, looking impressed. “I suppose I see what you mean.” He raised his drink to his lips and took a long pull of champagne.

Yuuri couldn’t help but stare at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. It took a moment before he was able to gather himself enough to catch on to Viktor’s implication. “What do you mean, ‘suppose?’”

Viktor brought his drink down abruptly. His eyes were wide when he looked at Yuuri, and Yuuri got the vague sense that, perhaps, the man wasn’t used to being asked to voice his own opinions.

Viktor pressed his lips together for a heartbeat, as if trying to gauge what Yuuri was thinking. But whatever he deduced, it seemed to play into Yuuri’s favor, because Viktor finally tore his gaze away with a rueful chuckle and sauntered over toward the bed. Yuuri’s heart began to race before he realized that the man only intended to sit on the carved cedar chest at the foot of it.

“I’ve lived here twelve years,” Viktor began, his voice full of cheer and a hint of seduction, as though nothing had passed between him and Yuuri a moment before. “I was here long before the World’s Fair came, before many of the international artists arrived here. And of course, working at the Moulin Rouge, I’ve seen almost every type of Parisian pass through – I’ve become…rather _intimately_ familiar with the folk of the Montmartre District, for better or worse.” He smiled then, and despite his perpetual sultry magnetism, for the first time Yuuri picked up on a sadness that lay barely concealed behind it. “You may find that that ‘energy’ you sense can become warped, perverted, with time.” He locked eyes with Yuuri. “I pray that doesn’t happen to you, of course. Your _joie de vivre_ is quite refreshing, and maybe a bit stronger than that of other newcomers I have met.”

The compliment made Yuuri feel far more vulnerable than he had felt all night – but somehow, the glimpse he’d been given into the enigmatic Sparkling Diamond’s past made him feel like he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. “Thank you.” He bit his lip, searching for something more meaningful to say; after a few uncomfortable seconds ticked by in silence, he blurted, “So where did you live before?”

He regretted his words immediately as Viktor visibly stiffened.

“I-I don’t mean to pry!” Yuuri waved a hand frantically. “I just…you said you’d been in Paris for twelve years, and…I guess I’m just curious about you. How did you end up here, then?”

Viktor’s eyes were narrowed, his lips pressed together tightly. He looked away, crossing his legs and arms, closing himself off – and Yuuri felt himself begin to panic.

 _I can’t lose him._ The thought rang inside his mind as loud as the largest bell in the Notre Dame cathedral, resonating deep in his bones, as Viktor stood up with his back to Yuuri and began unbuttoning his vest.

“Well, _monsieur,_ you came here for a reason, didn’t you?” The smile he flashed Yuuri over his shoulder was cold and jarring, piercing and invulnerable, nothing like the warm, open expression Yuuri had begun to crave from him. This was the smile he gave freely away to the adoring nightclub crowds. “Why should we wait?”

As the vest fell to the plush carpeted floor, Yuuri could have sworn that time slowed for a bit. He knew he was watching his chance slip away – it was a feeling he was familiar with; his own anxieties frequently prevented him from seizing magnificent opportunities. Often, the loss stung, but he had learned to carry on.

But _this…_ losing Viktor like this would hurt. A lot. He wasn’t sure what he felt toward the other man yet, besides his obvious lust, but he was far too fascinated by Viktor Nikiforov to let this encounter devolve into something meaningless. And he knew that the more Viktor opened himself up physically – _as he sank back onto the duvet, splaying out his body as if his intention was to take up as much space as possible, with his arms lifting above his head and stretching his lithe, exposed torso, and his hair spreading into a fan around his face as he turned his smoldering eyes on Yuuri_ – the more he was locking away his truest self.

“Why don’t you come over here and join me?” Viktor’s voice was lyrical and low, like a hypnotic chant. His eyes were half-lidded as he rolled over onto his stomach, resting his head on his arm and curving his back just so. “You promised me a little _poetry_ didn’t you?”

Yuuri _wanted_ to. There was Viktor, the most gorgeous and intriguing man he’d ever laid eyes on, offering himself, and every beat of Yuuri’s heart told him to take that offer.

But he wasn’t naïve. He knew that Viktor’s job as a performer required certain _other_ duties, ones that would frequently land him under the sheets with some of the most rich and powerful people in Paris. Sleeping with him wouldn’t make Yuuri special in Viktor’s mind; it would make him one flushed, blissed-out face in a sea of a million others. And more than Yuuri wanted to lean over him now and kiss his way down the column of his alabaster throat, Yuuri wanted to mean something to him, because lord knew Viktor already meant something to Yuuri.

Viktor was panting now, already getting himself worked up as he rolled on top of the covers, but deep down Yuuri knew that it was just a tactic – an act, an attempt to flatter him, to make him think that he had an effect on such an esteemed courtesan. It wasn’t as genuine as he had been before, when he had described the side of Paris he knew.

Viktor looked over at Yuuri from beneath silvery eyelashes, baring his throat and slowly running his hands down his chest and abdomen. When they reached his hips, Yuuri attempted to take another long swig of his champagne – but his glass came up empty.

With his heart pounding in his ears, he wrenched his gaze away from the sight on the bed and raced over to the bar cart. He didn’t know what the label on the bottle he picked up said, but judging by the bitter burn he felt as he began chugging it down, it was probably vodka.

“Sir, are you – what on earth are you doing?” Yuuri heard Viktor’s alarmed query from behind him as he slammed the bottle down. He gripped the edge of the cart with white knuckles, sucking in deep gulps of air as he waited for the searing burn to dissipate into warmth, and slowly, so slowly, into exactly what Yuuri needed right now: stupid, shameless liquid courage.

It took a few moments, but Yuuri didn’t hear a single rustling movement from the bed, and he was grateful that Viktor was willing to wait for him.

When he finally turned back around, Viktor was sitting up on the bed, his shirt still open and exposing a flushed chest that matched his pink cheeks. Some of his carefully styled hair had fallen in front of his face, and his eyes were wide and worried. His earlier coldness seemed to have been forgotten, at least momentarily – and that realization, combined with the increasing level of alcohol in his bloodstream, motivated Yuuri to hold out a hand.

“Dance with me.” Yuuri bit his lip, but refused to break eye contact.

Whatever Viktor was expecting him to say, it obviously hadn’t been that. He blinked, then raised an eyebrow, moving to straighten his clothes and push his hair out of his eyes. “Dancing? Really?”

“Yes.” Yuuri took a step forward; the fight to keep his voice level and firm was growing easier as the champagne and spirits continued to take hold. “I…er, I liked it. Dancing with you.” When Viktor froze, still appearing confused, Yuuri pressed on. “You’re an amazing dancer. I, uh, noticed during your performance – I dance too, you see, sometimes professionally, and I thought…you’re really good.” He knew he was blushing fiercely, and could only pray he wasn’t being too overconfident.

For a moment, Viktor didn’t react; he just sat and stared at him, and Yuuri’s confidence slowly began to wane. But just as he began to bring his hand down, rescinding his offer, Viktor sprang to his feet and crossed the distance between them.

“We don’t have any music.” This close, Viktor didn’t bother to raise his voice above a whisper.

Yuuri stared back at him, awestruck by the way Viktor’s breath hitched in his throat, the way his fists clenched and unclenched, ungainly, at his sides. Like he was nervous. Maybe even as nervous as Yuuri himself, he dared to think.

“Can’t you hear it?” Yuuri asked, keeping his voice soft for fear of shattering the moment. “They’re still playing, down in the Moulin Rouge.”

Viktor looked away for a moment, as if straining to hear. “Isn’t it a bit quiet?” An attempt at his usual smirk flickered across his face, but it was gone in an instant.

Yuuri bit his lower lip, inhaled a deep breath, and forced himself to move. He shuffled closer to Viktor and reached his right hand around to rest firmly over the other man’s scapula, drawing Viktor’s right hand into his left as he did so.

Viktor let out an infinitesimal gasp, one that Yuuri wouldn’t have heard if he wasn’t standing so close. There was no hiding now; he tilted his face up to gauge Viktor’s reaction, and what he saw surprised him to say the least. The man who had been the picture of smoldering eroticism moments before had his pupils blown wide, his lips parted ever so slightly, a rosy flush dusted across his high cheekbones.

He looked younger, more innocent - like a child seeing a falling star for the first time. Yuuri didn’t know how he appeared in Viktor’s eyes, but he certainly felt just as young, just as frightened and amazed.

Without another word, he stepped forward with his left foot, and Viktor immediately stepped back with his right. Yuuri looked up, asking a silent question, and Viktor gave a small nod.

The music that floated in through the open window was fast – it was a Viennese waltz, which would have been danced in some of the more lower-class dance halls in London. Despite having more experience with slower waltzes, Yuuri was no stranger to these steps. His veins thrummed with excitement as he realized that Viktor knew what he was doing as well – he was giving up the lead this time around, and Yuuri fully intended to sweep him off his feet.

He pulled Viktor back into a turn, and they were _gone._

The room, the club, and the city itself all seemed to fade; Viktor followed Yuuri’s lead like he’d known every improvised step for years. They twirled across the carpeted floor, not a word passing between them. Yuuri couldn’t speak for Viktor, but he felt like it was just the two of them, alone in the night as the rest of the city slept.

As the club musicians played on in the distance and the alcohol reached Yuuri’s brain, he grew more bold. He brought Viktor into an underarm turn, and the man went into it without needing much encouragement. Yuuri had never had a dance partner before with whom he connected so well. He would meet Viktor’s wide eyes and marvel at how well their bodies moved together, how his hand fit so perfectly into Yuuri’s, like some benevolent deity had conspired to lead them both to this room tonight, and this dance was a moment that had been fixed in their futures from the days they were born.

Of course, they didn’t keep eye contact the whole time – Yuuri had to look over Viktor’s shoulder to make certain that they wouldn’t bump into anything – but when Yuuri did look at Viktor, he was able to silence the anxious voice in the back of his mind that whispered, _what if he just thinks you’re insane?_ Because Viktor didn’t question his leading, didn’t speak up once in protest or confusion. Viktor just looked at Yuuri in constant wonder, and Yuuri _knew_ that something was shifting, that the planets must have been realigning in the vastness above them, and everything was falling into place.

Violins swelled, the timpani rumbled, the horns blared a crescendo, and Yuuri pulled Viktor down into a dip over his left knee. Viktor’s long, silver hair fell away from his face, and they held each other’s gazes like pieces of driftwood in a roiling sea.

“I can’t believe it,” Viktor whispered reverently, with the smallest, most genuine smile Yuuri had ever seen touching upon his lips. “I can’t _believe_ it.”

“What?” Yuuri panted, giggling a little at the absurdity of it all – the lavish room, the inexplicable connection, the copious amounts of champagne, and Viktor’s current position, leant back and supported only by Yuuri’s knee.

Viktor let out a long exhale, not breaking eye contact with Yuuri. “I…I think I’m in love.”

The movement of the earth ground to a halt. Time ceased to exist, and the air left Yuuri’s lungs – there _was_ no air, no floor beneath his feet, no show to pitch, no city to conquer. There was only Viktor, beautiful Viktor, smiling up at Yuuri like he had just saved his damn life, his blue eyes glowing brighter than Yuuri thought was humanly possible.

Viktor let out a breathless laugh. “I’m in _love!_ ” he repeated, almost prayerfully. “I’m in love with a handsome, passionate… _wonderful_ young duke!”

Yuuri’s smile faltered a little, but it came back quickly enough. “I’m not a duke,” he chuckled. He must have misheard, or else Viktor had simply misspoken.

Or at least, that’s what he believed, until Viktor’s smile dimmed abruptly. “What?”

A pit began to open up in Yuuri’s stomach. “I’m…I’m not a duke?” He giggled again, but the sound was hollow; his throat began to constrict as anxiety began to sober him up. “I…you said something about a duke? But I’m…not, uh…”

Viktor’s hands clamped down on his shoulders as his brows furrowed.

 _Shit._ Yuuri opened his mouth, trying to think of something – anything – that he could possibly say to defuse the situation, to bring back the earth-shattering moment they’d had before. But he simply didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

 _“What do you mean you’re not a duke?”_ Viktor practically hissed, his eyes widening in what appeared to be a combination of shock, betrayal, and anger, much to Yuuri’s chagrin.

“I – I don’t know where you heard that from!” Yuuri felt sweat begin to bead on his forehead.

“So you’re _not_ Duke of Kendal?” Yuuri shook his head, and Viktor’s expression morphed into one of pure horror. “Then – who are you?”

“Um…Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri?” He offered as much of an apologetic smile as he could muster. “I’m a writer, and a dancer. I just moved here from London but I’ve been working with Phichit Chulanont to develop this _wonderful_ stage show, and we were hoping – “

Yuuri never got to finish his pitch. Viktor shoved him back and scrambled out of their dip position, but when he got to his feet he kept a firm grip on Yuuri’s shoulders. “You’re one of _Chulanont’s_ people? Oh, dear _god –_ ” he broke off into a string of what sounded like a creative mixture of Russian and French curses, smacking a palm to his forehead. “I don’t even want to know how he possibly got another one of his cronies through. I told Yakov, I’ve had enough of his harebrained schemes!”

“Ah, I’m so sorry, Vik – Mr. Nikiforov!” Yuuri yelped. “I-I just did as I was told, I had no idea, I’m new here so – “

“Wait!” Viktor gasped suddenly. He grabbed Yuuri by the shoulders so tightly his fingers could have bruised, and the look of sheer terror in his eyes made Yuuri’s blood run cold. “If you’re here now,” Viktor began, “then where’s the _real_ Duke?”

Yuuri may have thought before that some omniscient god may have brought him and Viktor together that night, but that deity seemed to have a rather sick sense of humor, because at that exact moment there was a knock at the door. The two men immediately looked toward the source of the sound.

A blonde-haired man peeked his head in. His green eyes met Viktor’s, then Yuuri’s, and after a beat his jaw dropped as he seemed to put together what was happening – Yuuri’s hands had fallen to Viktor’s waist, and Viktor’s hands were still on Yuuri’s shoulders, with their faces barely six inches apart.

“Ah, Viktor…” the man began, clearing his throat. He had a slight accent; Swiss, if Yuuri was correct. “Pardon my interruption, but the Duke is here.”

Viktor glanced back at Yuuri, then jumped back, withdrawing all physical contact. “дерьмо!” he shouted, his eyes darting back and forth between the blonde man and Yuuri. “Chris, can you buy me some time?”

Chris grimaced. “He…won’t take no for an answer.”

Viktor covered his face with his hands. Yuuri shot Chris a pleading look; the other man looked around the room, his eyes settling on the bar cart.

“Quick!” He stepped into the room and pushed the bar cart further against the wall. “Get behind this! I’ll go out and talk to him; I might be able to buy you two more seconds, tops.”

Yuuri didn’t hesitate to dive behind it just as a booming laugh resonated on the landing outside the bedroom. He peered around the side of the cart to see Viktor hurriedly kicking his discarded vest underneath the bed, letting down his hair and running a hand through it. The Duke entered the room just as Viktor sat down on the bed, clutching his champagne flute, inhaling a deep breath as he pretended to gaze out toward the balcony.

Yuuri couldn’t see the man Viktor had clearly mistaken him for, but he watched as Viktor leveled a heated look at the newcomer from underneath his silvery lashes.

“My lord.” Viktor’s voice resembled a purr. “What a _pleasure_ it is to make your acquaintance.”

The man laughed and finally moved into Yuuri’s line of sight. He wasn’t surprised to note that the Duke of Kendal was the same man with whom Phichit had almost gotten into an altercation earlier – after all, how many dukes could there be at the Moulin Rouge in one night?

Still, it made Yuuri’s stomach turn to see the older, mustachioed man raking his eyes over Viktor with unconcealed lust. But the worst part was probably that Viktor seemed totally unaffected – in fact, the way he coolly met the Duke’s hungry gaze made it seem as though he welcomed the attention.

But that made no sense. Hadn’t he just told Yuuri that he loved him just moments ago? And hadn’t his eyes sparkled with all the truth in the universe as he said it?

“The world-famous Viktor Nikiforov,” the Duke bellowed, turning his back to the bar cart and reaching out a hand. But where Yuuri might have thought he was going in for a handshake, the Duke bypassed any formality in favor of placing his palm against Viktor’s cheek, swiping a thumb over the pale skin. “I quite enjoyed your performance tonight. Did you happen to know I was in the crowd?”

“Why, of course.” Viktor reached up to cover the Duke’s hand with his own and leaned into the touch. “I’ve been greatly looking forward to meeting you.”

Yuuri’s heart sank.

The Duke drew Viktor to his feet and pulled him close. “The same goes for me. And I’m overjoyed that our first meeting was able to be arranged as a private encounter.”

An unidentifiable emotion flickered across Viktor’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a suggestive smile. “Yes, only the best for you, my dear Duke.” He paused, biting his lip. “I’m looking forward to discussing your interest in the Moulin Rouge as well. May I offer you a drink? We can get the boring details out of the way first, and then we’ll have the rest of the night to ourselves.”

Toward the end of his sentence, Viktor had leaned in to whisper into the Duke’s right ear. Yuuri, who had been unable to so much as blink as he watched the exchange, quickly caught on when Viktor glanced over at him, meeting his eyes and then flicking them in the direction of the door and back again. The message was clear: _the duke’s back is turned. Get out quickly!_

Yuuri fought back a wave of bitter disappointment as he pushed silently to his feet, knowing full well what would probably happen between Viktor and the Duke when he left. But he could do nothing; he had no real reason to be jealous of the Duke. Viktor wasn’t Yuuri’s – his affections belonged to the highest bidder. The Duke obviously expected to get his money’s worth. And, surely, if the Duke knew Yuuri had been eavesdropping, he might unleash his trigger-happy manservant upon him.

Yuuri stole as quickly as possible toward the door. Any sound he made was immediately covered by the sound of the city outside and the Duke’s low, rumbling voice – “now, now, Viktor, as you said, we have all night! Let’s just take some time to _enjoy_ ourselves, shall we?” – and he felt a small prick of relief as he laid his hand on the doorknob.

His relief crashed very quickly into terror as he cracked open the door to see a hulking body, outfitted in a black tailcoat and sporting a prominent gun holster, blocking the room’s entrance.

He closed the door and spun around, pressing his back to it and searching to meet Viktor’s eyes. When he found them, they were wide with understanding and fear. He held Yuuri’s gaze from over the Duke’s shoulder, his arms clutching at the British noble as he began pressing kisses to Viktor’s neck.

Yuuri’s eyes darted around the room until they settled on the bed. Without another thought, he leapt behind it.

Viktor’s nervous laughter fluttered through the air. “ _Monsieur,_ you flatter me! The men and women in London must be tripping over themselves to court you, but, ah, can we – “

“Mm, but no one in London possesses beauty that is remotely comparable to yours.” The Duke’s voice was breathless, and the lewd sounds of his kisses stabbed at Yuuri’s eardrums and added to his growing nausea. “Just relax, my dear. I’ll be good to you, I promise.”

There was a shuffle of movement, and then the bed shifted behind Yuuri. A startled yelp from Viktor was quickly muffled into what sounded like more kissing.

They had moved onto the bed, the Duke was letting out little moans, and Yuuri was so, so screwed.

He scrambled a short distance away from the bed on his hands and knees, then leapt to his feet and spun around.

The Duke had his eyes closed and was locking lips with Viktor, who was splayed beneath him, his silver hair spreading over the crimson pillows. Viktor’s eyes were open and flickering frantically between Yuuri and the man he was kissing. He used a hand that had previously been entangled in the Duke’s hair to gesture wildly toward the door.

Yuuri winced and held his hands up in a shrug, then mimed a gun and pointed back to the door.

The Duke released Viktor’s lips and moved to his jaw, and Viktor clenched his teeth, glaring at Yuuri with a mixture of fear and fury written on his face.

Just then, the sounds of several shouting voices and pounding feet resounded just outside the door, causing the Duke and Viktor to look in its direction. Yuuri jumped back behind the bar cart just in time.

“What on earth?” Yuuri could see the Duke stand up and brush off his tailcoat. “I apologize, my dear, but I should probably check on whatever that commotion is, to ensure that we are not needlessly disturbed.” He offered a patronizing smile and began to head toward the door. “I’ll hurry back!”

The moment the door closed, Yuuri was on his feet and racing over to Viktor, who had gone ghostly pale. Some part of Yuuri expected Viktor to wring his throat, but the man only stared at him as he wrapped his arms around himself and began to tremble violently.

Something was _very_ wrong. “Viktor?” Yuuri asked, sinking to his knees in front of the Russian. “Viktor, are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“Do you…h-have _any_ idea…what he c-could have d- _done_ to you?” Viktor’s teeth clattered together as he spoke, but it didn’t lessen the urgency in his voice. “If he saw you he…c-could have _killed_ …”

“Viktor, Viktor – you’re shaking, please, let me help,” Yuuri begged as he rose to his feet and took Viktor by the shoulders. “Why don’t I get you some water?”

With a grunt, Viktor got to his feet – and almost immediately, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped forward onto Yuuri.

Yuuri froze, his heart pounding. _Shit. Shit! He’s unconscious – is he sick? Oh god, oh god!_

He glanced around the room, as if a solution would magically appear. When it didn’t, he simply sighed and decided to try to get Viktor back onto the bed; then, he could find a way to escape via the balcony and run for help. As much as it would pain him to leave Viktor alone with the Duke in such a vulnerable state, it was the only possible route he could take.

He lifted Viktor onto the bed and pushed him back up toward the pillows, but when he heard the jiggling of the doorknob, he jumped in surprise and lost his footing.

“Viktor, darling, I’m – ”

Yuuri looked over, and as he watched the Duke’s expression morph from cheeriness, to shock, to anger, he knew he was a dead man. Because when he had fallen, he had landed on top of Viktor, with their faces mere inches from each other.

“What? But…” The Duke’s face began to redden. “I was barely gone for two minutes!”

Yuuri heard a groan, and he quickly turned his attention to the man beneath him, whose eyes had begun to flutter open. Viktor pressed a hand to his forehead and blinked slowly; his lips began to form a blissful, heart-shaped smile, but his eyes quickly widened in shock as he turned to glance at the Duke, then back to Yuuri.

“Uh – ” Viktor sputtered, his breathing growing erratic. “I can explain!”

“No, that’s quite all right.” The Duke’s tone was icy. “Thought you could make a fool of me, did you? But I promise you, Viktor, I am _no_ fool. Feltsman will be hearing from me.”

All of the breath left Yuuri’s lungs as Viktor, with surprising strength for someone who had just passed out, violently shoved Yuuri off him.

“Please, my lord, forgive me!” Even though the color was returning to Viktor’s face, Yuuri’s heart broke to see the pained expression he wore. “I…I was, um…”

“He was rehearsing!” Yuuri blurted.

The two men’s heads whipped toward him, and Yuuri was torn between relief that the attention was now off Viktor, and regret that it had fallen on him.

“ _What?_ ” snapped the Duke.

Yuuri swallowed. “Um…we’re rehearsing. For a play. A…a new production that the Moulin Rouge will be putting on…”

“Yes!” Viktor nodded furiously. “That’s brilliant! I mean – the show, it’s brilliant!” He wrapped an arm around Yuuri and patted his shoulder, grinning brightly at the Duke as if nothing had happened. “Yuuri’s the writer behind it! I was going to bring it up in our discussion of your financial interests, my lord. We’ve only just begun the process, but it’s so _different_ from anything we’ve done before that I was wracked with anxiety over presenting the idea to you. I forgot that I’d also called an emergency rehearsal for tonight, but Yuuri showed up anyway, and he caught me in the middle of an anxious fit – I do apologize for that, sir, but I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you for so long.” He pouted and batted his eyelashes to sweeten the phrase.

The Duke looked utterly perplexed as he glanced between Viktor and Yuuri. Yuuri simply smiled and nodded; his heart thumped wildly in his chest.

Slowly, the Duke broke into a smile. “Well, well!” he laughed, “you gave me quite the fright there, Viktor, I must say! I accept your apology, but I must offer mine for jumping to conclusions. I am quite eager to hear more about what the Moulin Rouge has in store!”

Viktor looked visibly relieved. “Does…does that mean you’ll invest?”

“Well, I _would_ like to hear more about this new little show of yours!” The Duke continued to smile warmly as he walked toward Yuuri and offered a hand, which Yuuri hesitantly shook. “What was it, Mr…”

“K-Katsuki, sir!”

“Mr. Katsuki! The brains behind the Red Windmill’s latest venture!” The Duke had crow’s feet next to his eyes when he smiled, and for a moment, Yuuri almost thought he could forgive the way he had spoken to Viktor when he thought Yuuri couldn’t hear him. He looked friendly, like somebody’s father. But the memory of how cold he had sounded moments ago stopped Yuuri short. “Why don’t you tell me a bit more about the plot of your show?”

Yuuri stopped breathing. Next to him, Viktor had gone rigid, the hand on Yuuri’s shoulder clamping tight enough to cut off his circulation.

“Hello, Viktor, Yuuri! We’re so sorry we’re late!”

Yuuri and Viktor spun around to see Phichit standing in the middle of the room. Georgi was following him, and behind both of them, Leo and Minami were helping Guang Hong clamber over the balcony railing.

“Georgi? Phichit?” Viktor asked incredulously. “What…”

“We’re here for the emergency rehearsal you called!” Phichit cut Viktor off quickly enough for Yuuri to know that it had been intentional. “Someone was blocking the door, so we had to improvise.”

Yuuri had no idea how Phichit had managed to eavesdrop on the events inside the elephant, or how long he had been doing so, but his confusion was quickly replaced by supreme gratitude for his friends. He’d have to make it up to them later.

“Sir Duke, Duke Sir, my good man, I believe we met earlier!” Phichit winked. “Phichit Chulanont, if you don’t remember. My friends and I make up the rest of the creative team for the show.”

“Yes! Yes, they do!” Viktor tried to smile, but it looked much more like a grimace.

The Duke nodded, apparently dumbstruck as he waited for an explanation.

“I believe you wanted a summary?” Phichit placed his hands on his hips and grinned confidently, but Yuuri paled.

In the days before Yuuri had come to the Moulin Rouge, he had been in the process of working out the kinks in the narrative that Phichit had put together for the show before Yuuri’s arrival. Yuuri would call it a valiant attempt, but even he wasn’t that generous. It had been made up of bits and pieces of other famous stories, all mashed together in a nonlinear timeline that made absolutely no sense. If that was what Phichit considered his magnum opus, Yuuri didn’t want to know what sort of nonsense Phichit was about to spew on the spur of the moment.

“Yes!” The Duke clapped in excitement, while Yuuri could only watch in horror. “Let’s hear it!”

Phichit cleared his throat, showing no signs of nervousness. “It’s actually based on an ancient Hindu legend,” he began, and Yuuri’s curiosity peaked. “Two young lovers, both from poor families. One is a beautiful courtesan, the most beautiful in all the land.” He tapped Viktor’s shoulder. “And he falls in love with a…um…” He quickly glanced at Yuuri. “A penniless…guitarist. But he’s the greatest guitarist of his generation!” He grabbed Georgi by the arm and yanked him forward. “He’ll be played by Georgi Popovich. Georgi would have been here for rehearsal, but he has narcolepsy, you see, and he had an episode so he had to come late. Yuuri got here first, so he agreed to stand in.”

“I see,” the Duke mused. “It sounds like a compelling story so far. What’s the obstacle?”

Just then, the door flew open, and a ruddy-faced, bald Russian man stormed in. His eyes were ringed with blue kohl, which contrasted sharply with the deathly serious glare on his face. Yuuri recognized him immediately as Yakov Feltsman.

“ _What_ is the meaning of this?” Yakov shouted, storming toward the group. “Christophe comes to me and tells me all hell is breaking loose, and now I see there’s a goddamn _orgy_ happening in here? Vitya, you’d better have a good explanation!”

“Yakov!” Viktor looked overjoyed, despite the older man’s obvious rage. He raced over to the man, standing in front of him and gripping him tightly by the shoulders. “Thank god, you made it to the rehearsal!”

“Rehearsal?” Yakov grumbled. “Vitya, I swear to god…”

“Yes! The rehearsal!” Yuuri couldn’t see Viktor’s face, but he could practically hear the plea in his voice. “For the show that Phichit and Yuuri here are putting on at the Moulin Rouge. We were just explaining it to the Duke, who’s very interested in _investing_ in it.”

“Investing?” Yakov’s eyes widened, and Viktor nodded furiously. When Yakov turned to look at the group again, a wide, unnerving smile spread across his face. “Investing! Yes! My lord, this show is going to be the most spectacular thing Paris has ever seen!” The shorter man walked up to the Duke and clapped him on the shoulder. “In fact, that’s what we’ll be calling it. ‘Spectacular Spectacular.’ It’s going to run for fifty years, mark my words, _monsieur._ ”

The Duke looked a bit nervous now. “Well, that is… _quite_ exciting.” His eyes flicked over to Viktor and back again. “But I would know more about the plot. Give me a full run-down.”

“Yes, of course!” Yakov began leading the Duke over to an armchair near the bar cart, then cast a threatening glance back at Yuuri and Phichit. “Care to share, boys?”

Yuuri and Phichit snapped to attention. “Yes sir!” they shouted in unison, then turned to each other. Yuuri could tell now that Phichit’s bravado was brilliantly fake, but it was working. He nodded, and Yuuri could practically hear him: _you’re the wordsmith, Yuuri._

“Well…” Yuuri cleared his throat and looked at the Duke. “So there’s the courtesan, and his kingdom is invaded by an evil du – _king!_ ” He coughed. “An evil king. The evil king takes over, and the only way for the courtesan to save the kingdom is to seduce him.”

“Where is this kingdom?” The Duke narrowed his eyes.

“Spain!” The volume of Leo’s voice made everyone in the room jump. Yuuri looked over at him, and noticed that there was a painting of what appeared to be the Barcelona Cathedral on the wall next to him. “It takes place in Spain!”

Yuuri nodded. “Yes! It’s set in Spain. So, uh, on the night the courtesan plans to seduce the king, he mistakes a poor guitarist for him, and ends up falling in love.” He locked eyes with Viktor then. “The guitarist didn’t _mean_ to deceive the courtesan, or anything like that. He really didn’t. He just happened to be dressed like a king, because, uh…he was going to a party.”

Viktor set his jaw and looked away.

The Duke’s eyes widened. “Ah, I see! So it’s forbidden love, like _Romeo and Juliet!”_

Yuuri scratched his head. “Um…more like Romeo and Julian, but…yes, I suppose.”

“Splendid!” The Duke clapped again. “What happens next?”

“Well, the courtesan still has to seduce the king,” Yuuri continued. “But he’s already in love with the guitarist, so they decide to keep meeting in secret.”

“Oh, I’ve got it!” Phichit snapped his fingers. “The guitar is _magical!_ ”

If Yuuri weren’t trying to save himself, he would have smacked his own forehead, or Phichit’s face. Judging by a quick glance at Viktor, he wasn’t alone.

“A magical guitar?” The Duke looked unimpressed.

“Yes! It talks, but it cannot lie – it can only speak the truth.” Phichit’s eyes gleamed ferally.

A look of understanding dawned on the Duke’s face. “I see, so the guitar reveals their secret to the king!”

“That’s it, you’ve got it!” exclaimed Phichit.

Yuuri had to admit – it wasn’t a bad plot.

“And all of my dancers will be in it, of course,” Yakov interjected. “It will be a musical embodiment of the Bohemian Revolution, and all of its values.”

“Oh Yakov, you should play the king!” Viktor’s features lit up with joy. “Imagine, Yakov Feltsman’s great return to the stage! No one could play him like you could!”

Yakov smiled smugly at that. “You’re quite right.”

“How about the ending?” The Duke looked around the room, seeming thoroughly amused. “What happens to the lovers?”

A surge of determination swelled through Yuuri, and he spoke up immediately, barely needing to think about his answer. “They are briefly pulled apart, and it seems like the king will have the courtesan. But in the end, their love is strong enough to allow them both to run away together.”

Yuuri could have sworn he heard Viktor suck in a breath, but when he glanced over, the other man had turned away again.

“Splendid, splendid!” The Duke stood and smiled at everyone in turn. “I like it! A show by Bohemians, for Bohemians. I can see it attracting customers from all over the world!” He stroked his mustache for a beat, then let out a chuckle. “All right, I’ll invest.”

Everyone in the group erupted into cheers and chatter, except for Yuuri and the Duke. For a brief moment they locked eyes across the circle of people, and Yuuri got the chilling sense that the Duke may have seen right through him – but then the Duke turned to Yakov and embraced the old man, smiling politely and agreeing to set up a meeting soon regarding the terms of the investment.

“Yuuri, can you believe it?” Phichit asked, wrapping his friend into a hug. “We’re going to have our own show at the Moulin Rouge!” He gasped and pulled back, his eyes wide. “We have _so_ much work to do! Leo needs to get composing, you need to get writing, I need to get designing, oh my god…”

Yuuri laughed and tried to find Viktor, if only to make sure he was all right. But he wasn’t where he had been standing before. Yuuri looked around for him, but all he saw was a flash of silver slipping out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@lit--yoi on Tumblr](http://lit--yoi.tumblr.com/) | [@manhattanvamp on Twitter](https://twitter.com/manhattanvamp)
> 
> дерьмо/der'mo = shit
> 
> Things I apparently really like writing about:  
> 1) Viktor's eyes  
> 2) Viktor's many clothing changes (that's 3 outfits in one night, for those of you keeping score)  
> Things I do not like writing about:  
> 1) CREEPY DUKES
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! This chapter was a bit easier to write, because tbh these boys kinda wrote it themselves. No matter what universe they're in, they're just meant to fall in love. I swear to god they'll be the death of me >.<
> 
> Next chapter may take a little while again - I'm going on a 2-week vacation starting tomorrow. I won't be able to write but I will be doing copious amounts of planning! So the next chapter will probably go up in the last week of August. Keep an eye on my Twitter and Tumblr for updates!
> 
> Also, fun fact: did you know the Elephant actually existed? It was a giant statue purchased by two early owners of the Moulin Rouge, and it housed an opium den! [The more you know.](http://www.messynessychic.com/2015/09/18/the-forgotten-elephant-of-the-moulin-rouge-garden-party/)
> 
> See you next time!


	4. why spend mine when I can spend yours?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Duke chuckled heartily. “You’re not used to rich men being interested in more than just your usual services, are you?”
> 
> “I can’t say I am.” Viktor tried to smile; he wasn’t sure what he was really feeling, but it seemed appropriate. “You really want to help me?”
> 
> “I do.” The Duke sipped his tea. “A talent like yours should not be left to languish.”
> 
> “And…” Viktor cleared his throat. “No sex? Are you sure that’s what you want?”
> 
> The Duke choked a bit at Viktor’s bluntness. “Ah – well, if at any point we _both_ truly want it, then of course. But I want to earn your favor, fair and square.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I am so sorry this took like 8 years. I was away in Europe for 2 weeks (y'all, I went to Barcelona and got to see the cathedral where Victuuri got engaged and I cried a lot) and then so much life happened when I got home that I'm only just now getting to post this. But here it is! Beta'd as usual by the amazing [Mazarin221b](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazarin221b/profile). She's got some amazing YOI fics going right now, go check them out!
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to any readers who are in the Houston, Texas area right now. I hope you're safe and that this fic makes you happy. Stay strong!

The Duke took his tea with milk and two heaping spoonfuls of sugar. 

The teacups were the finest porcelain in Yakov’s possession, gold-rimmed and floral-patterned. 

An arrangement of foxgloves and carnations sat in the center of the lace tablecloth, and the large window to the right provided a view of the bustling Parisian street several floors below.

Viktor spent most of the time during his luncheon with the Duke soaking up these minute details to distract himself from the elephant in the room – the play. The Duke may have been British, but he was clearly following the distinctly-French protocol of not discussing business until after the meal, and Viktor certainly wasn’t going to be the first one to bring it up.

“Viktor, my dear, you must know why I have asked to meet with you today.”

_ Ah. _ There it was.

Viktor turned back to his lunch companion, his practiced expression giving nothing away. “I assure you, my lord, there are no hard feelings.”

There were, of course. Viktor’s insides twisted sharply at the memory of the man before him bursting drunkenly into Viktor’s bedroom and grabbing him as if he were some sort of plaything. He wasn’t the worst of Viktor’s previous patrons, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t resentful.

The Duke dabbed at his mustache with a linen napkin. “No, I became inebriated shortly before coming to your chambers last night, and my behavior was uncouth. You deserved much better, and I treated you poorly. For that, I apologize.”

Viktor lowered his gaze demurely, as he’d been taught to do in these situations. If he opened his mouth, he knew he would say something he would regret, and so he waited for the other man to offer more.

“That being said,” the Duke continued, “I did agree to fund a production at the Moulin Rouge, and I am a man of my word. I intend to be deeply involved in the creative process, so we will be spending a great deal of time together in the coming months. I wish to clear the air between us.”

Viktor smiled, without showing his teeth. “There’s really no need.”

“But there is.” The Duke reached out and covered Viktor’s hand with his own; Viktor tensed, but the sincerity in the Duke’s eyes kept him from pulling away. “I see many facets in you, Viktor,” the nobleman went on. “Your grace and beauty are immediately obvious to anyone who looks upon you, but those who wisely choose to look a little longer cannot deny your immense talent and powerful personality. You are one of a kind, my dear, and I do believe that if you remain in this place, you will become stifled. A gift like yours is one that should be shared.”

Viktor’s ears pricked. “What do you mean?”

“The largest stages in Europe would be lucky to have you.” The Duke smiled warmly. “You deserve to tread the boards around the world, unfettered by a job like this. I want to give you that opportunity.”

“And…how do you plan to do that?” Viktor allowed a one-sided smirk to slip. “I know you can, of course, but I’m curious.”

The Duke’s eyes darkened. “Just leave the details to me, pet.” He leaned closer. “All I ask for in return is your continued companionship throughout the rehearsal process. But not in the way you’d think – I do wish to get to know you, Viktor. I want to know the man behind the sultry looks and glittering costumes. I would hope the two of us could grow closer, because truthfully, I am interested in a more fulfilling relationship with you. One that is not only professional, or…corporeal.”

“That’s certainly an unusual request, my lord,” Viktor replied. “I’m intrigued. But it won’t do us any good to pretend the corporeal relationship isn’t part of the deal.”

“Try not to think of it as a  _ deal. _ ” The Duke seemed to be fighting impatience. “Truly, if you would rather not pursue any sort of physical relationship – if you think it would damage our budding friendship – then I would happily forego it.”

Viktor was sure he wasn’t hiding his surprise very well.

The Duke chuckled heartily. “You’re not used to rich men being interested in more than just your usual services, are you?”

“I can’t say I am.” Viktor tried to smile; he wasn’t sure what he was really feeling, but it seemed appropriate. “You really want to help me?”

“I do.” The Duke sipped his tea. “A talent like yours should not be left to languish.”

“And…” Viktor cleared his throat. “No sex? Are you sure that’s what you want?”

The Duke choked a bit at Viktor’s bluntness. “Ah – well, if at any point we  _ both _ truly want it, then of course. But I want to earn your favor, fair and square.”

For a moment, Viktor feared he would laugh out loud at that.

He supposed he had to give the nobleman credit for wanting to pretend. After all, it had been a long time since Viktor had last found himself in a “save the poor prostitute” scenario, though it had happened to him frequently in his youth. It wasn’t unusual for a courtesan’s patrons to fall so deep into lust that they fancied they were in love, and they spun for themselves a fantasy in which the feeling was mutual and that such a flimsy, short-lived fling would be strong enough to draw said courtesan away from their friends and their livelihood. Viktor had become an expert in wringing those naïve souls for everything they had before letting them down with a classic “it’s not you, it’s me.”

But  _ this _ scenario offered another possible ending – one in which Viktor  _ did _ run off with his lovelorn patron, not for his own feelings, but for the promise of a future. The promise of a dream come true.

Viktor didn’t really believe in dreams anymore. He believed in what he could see, physically, in front of him. Perhaps the man with the mousy mustache, the piercing grey eyes, and the outstretched hand offered a dream made flesh.

But then again, Viktor was not a fool. Of  _ course _ the Duke would expect sex. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have offered his help to a well-known courtesan. That would simply have to happen, eventually; but the Duke seemed genuine about letting Viktor decide the  _ when, _ if not the  _ if. _ And that was a liberty Viktor rarely experienced.

Hell, maybe he really could learn to enjoy the Duke’s company. The benefits just kept adding up, and Viktor knew he’d come to a decision.

The Duke’s eyes lit up as Viktor firmly shook his hand.

***

“Rise and shine,  _ mon génie magnifique! _ Let’s put that beautiful mind of yours to work!”

Yuuri came very close to actually hissing, like an agitated cat. Phichit was so  _ loud _ and the sun was so  _ bright… _ and something smelled so  _ wonderful… _

Reluctantly, Yuuri blinked open his eyes to see Phichit and Minami standing over him. The two looked like happy, rosy-cheeked cherubs (aside from their devilish smiles), and they held a cup of coffee and a plate of eggs and bacon underneath his nose.

Yuuri moved his head slightly in an attempt to snatch one of the bacon slices off the plate with his teeth.

“Ah-ah, not so fast!” Minami giggled, snatching the plate away and leaving Yuuri to faceplant into his own bedclothes. “You really do have to get up, Katsuki-sama, it’s going on one o’clock!”

“Wait – huh?” Yuuri sat up abruptly, scrambling to find his spectacles. “Wait – I have so many questions – “  _ God, my voice sounds like hell. _

“Take your time. But eat something, will you?” Phichit motioned for Minami to pass the plate to Yuuri, who took it eagerly.

“Well, first – this looks amazing, and you really didn’t have to waste such good food on me.” Yuuri grimaced, even as his mouth watered.

Phichit shrugged. “You weren’t the only one in need of a little grease today. We figured this was an emergency, so Georgi and Leo whipped up breakfast for everybody.”

“Okay…” Hesitantly, Yuuri cut off a piece of bacon. In his present state (which, he now realized, could be called  _ horribly hungover _ ) it tasted like it had been cooked by Jesus Christ. “One more thing before we get to more serious matters: ‘Katsuki-sama?’”

Minami’s cheeks pinked. “What’s wrong with that?”

Yuuri gave him a hard look.

“But you’re a famous dancer!” Minami bounced a little on the bed; Phichit quickly set the coffee cup down on the nightstand. “I want to be a dancer someday too, just like you! I even have a poster in my bedroom from when you were in  _ Swan Lake _ in London!”

Yuuri nearly choked. “You have a  _ poster? _ Why on earth would you –”

“I’m not taking it down!” Minami folded his arms. His smug, snaggletoothed grin was enough to let Yuuri know that he wouldn’t be able to convince the boy otherwise.

Yuuri sighed. “Fine. You can keep it up, but please just call me Yuuri? We’re coworkers now.”

Minami looked like he’d just found box-seat tickets to the Paris Opera Ballet in his Christmas stocking – in that he appeared to be on the verge of spontaneously combusting. He opened his mouth, but when only a squeak came out, he threw his hands over his lips and scurried out of the room. Yuuri made a mental note to check on him later.

“I’m sure your last question is something along the lines of  _ what the hell happened last night?” _ Phichit said with a knowing smirk.

Yuuri rubbed his aching head. “I…yeah. I really don’t remember much. We got to the club, we met that redhead who flirted with me…”

“Mila,” Phichit supplied.

“Yeah. It’s all a bit fuzzy.” Yuuri winced as a wave of pain lanced through him. “I definitely overdid it on the absinthe beforehand. What was  _ in  _ that?”

Phichit shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t know what the hell old Marie does in her apartment downstairs, but I suppose there’s a reason she sells her stuff under the table.”

Yuuri groaned and fell back into his pillows.

“Hey, there, don’t you worry – you’ve earned a morning off,” Phichit soothed, reaching over to pat Yuuri on the shoulder. “You did a great job last night! Thanks to you, we’re finally going to get to put on our first show at a major venue.” He frowned. “Once we figure out how to make a story out of those spontaneous rewrites, I suppose.”

Yuuri blinked his eyes open. “What did I do?”

“Wait, do you not remember?” Phichit asked incredulously.

With some effort, Yuuri shook his head. He felt a tendril of dread work its way around his heart as his friend’s eyes widened.

“ _ Yuuuuuri! _ I was going to ask you to teach me your secrets!” Phichit threw the back of his palm against his forehead and fell back next to Yuuri on the bed. “What magic must you possess to seduce  _ the _ Viktor Nikiforov while he’s in the middle of a tryst with a richer man, and manage to convince him, his noble patron  _ and _ Yakov Feltsman to put on our unwritten show?”

“I did  _ what?” _ Yuuri shot up into a sitting position and instantly regretted it as a fog of pain settled thickly into his skull.

“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you don’t remember at least  _ some _ of that.”

Yuuri wracked his aching brain, but he could only come up with bits and pieces. The feeling of flying, a pang of nauseating jealousy, and a layer of fear. A pale-eyed man with a mustache, a hulking body with a gun outside the door. Crimson bedsheets.

“Oh  _ god, _ what did I do?” He reached over to clench Phichit’s shoulder in an iron grip, as if he could wring the information out of him. “Phichit, what did I do?”

“Ouch! Calm down!” Phichit yelped, plucking Yuuri’s hand from him. “I’m not sure of all the details, okay? Georgi, Leo, Guang Hong and Minami and I tried to go up to wait outside the door, but we were turned away. So we went back down to the courtyard and we were trying to come up with another way to get in, when we see the Duke of Kendal and his gun-toting goon walking toward the elephant. I realized that Viktor must have been expecting him.”

“How did you figure that?”

Phichit looked away. “I, ah…I may not have actually made an official appointment for you with Viktor.”

Yuuri frowned. “What did you do, Phichit?”

“Well…I might have just bribed another Moulin Rouge dancer whose name  _ definitely _ wasn’t Seung Gil for Viktor’s schedule.” Phichit giggled nervously. “I didn’t think you would take so long – I thought you could go in, pitch it and get out. But then Viktor showed up late and you two were in there  _ forever _ and then all of a sudden, this powerful man with a very muscular bodyguard is stalking up to the elephant…”

Yuuri squeaked and clapped a hand over his mouth. “ _ Phichit!” _

“Okay, look, I’m  _ sorry, _ but you’re fine, I promise! Anyway, we decided to  _ scale _ the elephant and climb in through the balcony – ”

“PHICHIT!”

“Wait, wait, it gets better, I promise! So Georgi and I managed to get up onto the balcony, and what do we see when we peek around the door but you  _ on top _ of Viktor on the bed, with the Duke standing in the doorway looking about ready to wring your neck – ”

Yuuri swore that the pain he was feeling in his head was actually caused by his soul leaving his body.

“ – and I don’t know what you two did, because you were both completely clothed but Viktor was looking up at you like you’d just given him a  _ very _ happy ending – ”

Yuuri was past the point of anxiety or embarrassment. He was perfectly calm – he’d never felt more serene in his life as Phichit recounted his tale. Of course, that was likely because he was certain his heart had just stopped, but that was neither here nor there.

“ – but then Viktor jumped up and started making excuses, saying you two were just having an emergency rehearsal for  _ our show, _ Yuuri! And the Duke got all excited and asked to hear more about it, so naturally we all jumped into the room for the ‘emergency rehearsal.’ And then you started pitching this new show – which was not the show that I put my own sweat and tears into, but I digress – and we all jumped in to come up with this plot, and long story short, the Duke loved it and you have a lot of writing to do.”

_ Everything is fine, _ Yuuri told himself.  _ I have no reason to be anxious, because I’m already dead. Or I’m dreaming. There is nothing to fear. _

“Yuuri?”

“Phichit.” Yuuri took in a deep, shuddering breath. “Could you please pour that steaming cup of coffee over my head? Maybe punch me in the face for good measure? And then just throw my unconscious body into the Seine.”

“ _ Yuuri. _ You’re fine! Look, you’re alive, we pitched our show, the show is  _ happening _ and we need to get working!” Phichit shoved the coffee cup at Yuuri, his eyes pleading.

Yuuri took the offering, but found himself lacking the strength to lift the cup to his lips. He stared into its milky depths, chasing memories of soft silver hair and fiery blue eyes around the deepest corners of his consciousness.

He remembered watching Viktor dance. That was one thing he couldn’t forget if he wanted to. He remembered the way he moved like a seasoned prima, telling stories with every sweep of his arm and twist of his torso. Yuuri didn’t know what he’d expected to find when he walked into a house of ill repute, but he supposed his worldview had been thoroughly challenged – Viktor danced like he had been instructed by the gods, but here he was, making a career in a place where much of the world would never know his name.

What could Yuuri have done to have made Viktor Nikiforov agree to start his stage career in a sloppily-pitched, unwritten musical show?

Quickly, Yuuri forced himself to take a sip of coffee. He  _ did _ have to get to work. He was being given the opportunity to work with one of the greatest performers he had ever seen, and he owed it to Viktor to ensure that  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ was the star vehicle that he’d been promised.

***

“No, no, again! From the top!” Lilia clapped her hands, the sound echoing off the walls of the studio like a gunshot.

Yuri Plisetsky doubled over, placing his hands on his knees and gasping for air. If it had been anyone else shouting and clapping like an irritating old hag, he would have glared daggers at them – but the last time he had glared at Lilia, she’d punished him by making him paint her bedroom pink. The walls had been blue beforehand, so he’d had to put on several coats of the stuff before his dance teacher was satisfied.

She had once been his aunt, but she and his great-uncle Yakov had gotten divorced before Yuri was even born. The awkward “business” relationship that they maintained made Yuri’s existence miserable – he figured that if Lilia  _ were _ his aunt, she might stop waking him at the crack of dawn for ballet practice, and Yakov would stop taking his frustration over his one-sided love for his ex-wife out on his nephew.

“How many times do I have to say it?” Lilia barked when Yuri didn’t jump back into first position fast enough. “Strong people are willing to be reborn – ”

“ – as many times as necessary,” Yuri groaned, and then winced.

“Are you  _ mouthing off _ at me?”

“No, ma’am…”

“Keep that up and I won’t let you anywhere near the club during the run of the winter show.”

Yuri looked up sharply. Of course, he’d heard about  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ – everyone in the Montmartre District had by now. (He’d also badgered Yakov about it until the man was spewing steam out of his ears. “For the love of  _ god,” _ he’d shouted, throwing his hands up, “yes, yes, we’re turning the club into a theatre. No, it’s not a regular nighttime show. If you  _ shut up _ for five minutes I might let you shadow the performers backstage. Now leave me alone, I’m late for a meeting with Vitya’s patron!”)

“I’m sorry ma’am.” Yuri grit his teeth and pulled himself back into proper posture.

Lilia turned up her nose and looked as if she were about to chide him again, but she was interrupted by a timid knock at the door. Her perpetual frown deepened, but she moved to answer it, calling back over her shoulder: “Five more repetitions! Grand jetés across the floor. Now!”

Yuri’s muscles screamed as he complied. Lilia was a drill sergeant, but Yuri knew she was the  _ best _ – she’d been the prima ballerina of the Bolshoi Ballet once upon a time, before Yakov’s mysterious past caught up with them and forced them to flee to Paris and start up a nightclub-brothel.

Yuri had started spending his summers with them when he was eight years old. His grandfather Nikolai used to come with him, back then; Yuri’s parents had died not long before that, so his grandfather thought that the adventure would be good for him. That was when he’d met Viktor, the older boy his great-uncle and ex-aunt had brought with them when they’d moved to France. He wasn’t Yakov’s son, but he had become something of a brotherly figure to Yuri over the years, though he was loathe to admit it.

He would also never say aloud that Viktor was the one who had inspired him to move to Paris permanently to study dance under Lilia, and under Viktor himself when he was available. After all, Yuri had no intention of becoming a nightclub dancer, and he often wondered why Viktor hadn’t sought better work – he was unquestionably one of the most talented dancers in Paris, after all.

_ No matter. Let the old man waste away here. _ Yuri grunted as he forced himself into another leap.  _ With him and Lilia teaching me, I’ll occupy the spotlights he never thought to seize. _

His thoughts were interrupted at a questioning noise from Lilia. He stopped and turned, thinking he could be in for another tongue-lashing, and was surprised to see Lilia staring down at a slip of paper that she gripped with white knuckles. Her green eyes were wide as saucers, but they were empty of their usual fury.

“Madame Baranovskaya?” Yuri tried gently. When his tutor didn’t look up, he cleared his throat. “Aunt Lilia?”

That got her attention, but barely. She looked up, but her eyes seemed to be locked on something far away – beyond Paris, possibly.

“Oh, I’m sorry Yura,” she breathed. Yuri started a little; she never called him that. “I think we should conclude our lesson for today. You’re worn out enough, aren’t you?”

“What’s that?” Yuri stepped gingerly toward her. “A telegram?”

At that, Lilia smiled almost ruefully and crossed the room, stopping to stare out the tall window at the elephant statue in the courtyard. “Yes,” she replied, her voice slowly gaining clarity. “It’s nothing much – it’s just that it was from an old friend. Someone I haven’t seen in a very, very long time.” She took a shaky breath. “Apparently she’s a friend of this young Mr. Katsuki, who is writing the winter show. She’s coming to help him.”

Yuri was uncomfortable. Very much so. He wanted to bolt out of the room; Lilia and Yakov always got strangely distant whenever the topic of their pasts came up, but they never fully explained anything to him, so he never knew what to do other than shift awkwardly from foot to foot. “Is she coming soon?” He tried to sound bright, upbeat – nothing like his usual self. But he had to find a way to exit the room tactfully, otherwise he’d get an earful about his manners later.

Lilia kept her eyes locked on something outside the window. “Yes,” she sighed wistfully. “Within the week. Her name is Okukawa Minako, and she’s travelled a very long way to be here. I don’t know what I’ll do when I see her, but I suppose we’d better make her feel welcome.”

***

Yakov breathed a sigh of relief. The Duke of Kendal sat in the chair across from him, and a formidable stack of legal papers rested on the desk between them – thankfully, most of it was in the “finished” pile now. The Duke was thorough. Yakov hesitated to call him  _ paranoid; _ after all, the Duke would be contributing the largest donation that the Moulin Rouge had ever seen. In order to put on this production, they’d need to renovate the club into a real theater; in addition to those costs, the investment would include a sizeable budget for a grand set and fine costumes.

On the bright side, the Duke seemed genuinely interested in ensuring the success of  _ Spectacular Spectacular. _ He’d allocated a large advertising budget, and had promised to spread word of the show across his widest social circles. They could expect a very different crowd than the types they usually welcomed into the nightclub.

And while this overjoyed Yakov for a number of reasons, he had to admit that the one he was happiest about was the fantastic opportunity that the Duke would be able to offer his Vitya.

Twelve years ago, Yakov had brought the scrappy silver-haired urchin from St. Petersburg to Paris, and together, he and Lilia had built him into the Sparkling Diamond. The boy was made to be put in front of an audience, and he’d blossomed within the community of performers at the Moulin Rouge. Anyone who frequented the establishment agreed that Viktor Nikiforov was the most talented dancer in the Parisian underworld. But Yakov knew that Viktor had always dreamed of more, and while for years he had tried not to get the boy’s hopes up…now it looked like he might have a chance at stardom that no one else in the Moulin Rouge would ever have.

He smiled a little as he picked up the last page of the contract, thinking back on just how much Viktor had grown. Lilia had never been interested in having children, and for a long time Yakov had thought he wasn’t, either. But he was proud of Viktor in a way he imagined he would be proud of his own son, if he had one.

(Of course, Viktor would never hear any of that from him.)

_ Henceforth, the Proprietor agrees to cede all deeds to the Venue to the Investor as collateral… _

Yakov’s blood suddenly ran cold as he read over the clause, buried halfway down the final page.

Then, the paragraph below it:  _ The services of the Courtesan will be reserved solely for the Investor from the date of signing until the opening night of the Production. The Courtesan owes the Investor at least one night’s services before the end of that time period, or this contract is void and the Proprietor agrees to repay all production costs to the Investor. _

“What…” Yakov pressed a hand to his heart. “What is the meaning of this, sir?”

The Duke smirked. “Hm? What seems to be the problem?”

Yakov looked up at the man, and was startled by the predatoriness of his gaze.

“You…you want to possess all of the deeds to the Moulin Rouge?” Yakov swallowed hard. “And…you want Vit – Viktor to be bound to you, exclusively? Pardon me, my lord, but I recall that you wished to build more of a friendship with him first. A mentorship, even. You never said he would be under a  _ deadline _ to sleep with you.”

The Duke’s smile widened, but its warmth receded. “Very well. I suppose I will be leaving. What a pity we couldn’t work this out.” He craned his neck back to the door. “Masumi, we’re going.”

The bodyguard craned his neck into the room and fixed Yakov with a cold look.

“No! Wait!” Yakov sputtered, holding up his hands. “I meant no offense, my lord. But surely you see that this may be a bit…excessive? I am sure Viktor would take a liking to you on his own terms. What will he think when he finds out about this?”

“That, my friend, is up to you.” The Duke’s tone was one of cold indifference. “If you still think you and your whore could benefit from my influence and capital, then you will not inform him of the contract. I will, of course, attempt to woo him as genuinely as possible – I would prefer it if he truly fell for me, and gave himself to me of his own free will. On the off chance that this does not happen – and it will, because if you take a look at that contract, you will see that I insist upon having regular private meetings with him – then, and only then, will I inform him of the clause. But I would prefer not to have to shatter the illusion, if you understand my meaning.”

Yakov’s blood froze in his veins. He’d dealt with some rather slimy types throughout his years as a pimp (he would never call himself that in conversation, because he did run a  _ very _ respectable nightclub, thank you very much…but when he lay awake at night, alone in his bed, he would quietly admit to himself that that was simply his life now), especially when dealing with Vitya’s patrons, but this was something that he never would have seen coming.

The Duke was smart. A genius, even, and he had done what all of Vitya’s previous patrons had failed to do: he’d devised an almost-foolproof scheme to take Vitya off the market.

Yakov could fill in the blanks on his own: Vitya’s career success was contingent on a sexual relationship with the Duke.

“Is there a problem?” The Duke  _ smiled _ then, like the cat that got the canary. Yakov felt suddenly ill, but he remained silent.

“I will take that to mean that you have no further questions.” The Duke gestured at the final piece of paper. “Sign it, Feltsman, so I can be on my way. I’m a busy man, you know.”

Yakov grit his teeth. “You’re making a mistake,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. “This is…criminal. There are other ways you could go about this – perhaps if you gave Vitya – Viktor – a bit more time to properly, er,  _ fall _ for you – ”

The Duke slammed a fist on the table, making Yakov jump. Masumi leapt into the room, a hand on his gun holster.

“Listen here, you lowly bottom-feeder, you are  _ nothing,” _ the nobleman spat. “But by the nature of my birth, _ I _ am imbued with the power of the British monarchy. You said you want me to finance your show, save your illicit business, bring your little songbird the fame and fortune that you yourself will never achieve? I am your  _ only  _ hope. If you refuse to sign, I will walk out that door and never return. But you should know that one of  _ my _ well-placed bribes will go very far with the head of the Parisian police, regardless of how many law enforcers  _ you _ have in your back pocket.”

Yakov sucked in a breath.

“Do I make myself clear?” The Duke pushed the paper across the desk, baring his teeth as if he was prepared to sink them into Yakov’s flesh. “You  _ will _ sign the Moulin Rouge over to me, and you will make sure no one lays a hand on the courtesan from now on. Because I  _ don’t _ like other people touching my things.”

Without thinking, Yakov reached for his fountain pen and dipped it in ink, feeling shocked to the core over the Duke’s sudden change in tune. He hesitated only a moment as his pen hovered over the document - after all, what would Vitya say? If he were here, he would surely insist on fighting for his agency. He knew that his occupation was illegal, and therefore he was not protected very well from abuse in the workplace, but he trusted that his clients were vetted thoroughly beforehand by Yakov. Vitya may have wanted to advance his career, but that didn’t mean he disliked his job; if he knew the Duke’s true intentions, he would surely insist on negotiating further or waiting for another opportunity…

_ But what if another opportunity never comes? _ Yakov thought as sweat began to bead on his brow.  _ What if the Duke just runs us into the ground, or worse, lands us all in prison? What if he finds other ways to attack Vitya? _

His Sparkling Diamond’s freedom and future were rapidly slipping away.

As the Duke began to open his mouth to speak, Yakov came to a decision. 

He signed his name as legibly as he could with a shaking hand; this was the only way he could see to placate the nobleman for now. Yakov would find a way out of this. For Vitya, for all his dancers, and for Lilia and Yura, if not for himself. 

“I understand completely,” he mumbled slowly, his shoulders hunching. He’d lost this battle, but the war for the Moulin Rouge had only just begun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mon génie magnifique = my beautiful genius, according to Google Translate.
> 
> Hmm...who sent that telegram, I wonder? And who is Masumi? Tune in next time to find out!
> 
> Speaking of which - I'm starting my senior year of college tomorrow! So, like, yay for being really close to getting my degree, but boo for the fact that my time may be a bit more limited now. I will definitely make time to write whenever I can, but things might be a little hectic as I settle into my schedule. So please bear with me! (I've also made the fantastic decision to start working on a YOI Big Bang fic. This fic will take precedence but like...what possessed me to start another fic right before school starts? Lmao)
> 
> In the meantime, follow me on Twitter @[manhattanvamp](https://twitter.com/manhattanvamp) and on Tumblr @[lit--yoi](http://lit--yoi.tumblr.com) for updates and general YOI-related fangirling.


End file.
